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ETHELBERT    TALBOT 


M\     PEOPLE 
OF    THE    PLAINS 


BY  THE    RIGHT   REVEREND 

ETHELBERT  TALBOT,  D.D.,  S.T.D. 

BISHOP   OF  CENTRAL  PENNSYLVANIA 


ILLUSTRATED 


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HARPER  &  BROTHERS  PUBLISHERS 

NEW     YORK     AND     LONDON 

M  C  M  V  I 


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Copyright,  1906,  by  Harper  &  Bruthers. 

yf//  rights  reserved. 
Published  November,  igo6. 


TO  THE 
LOYAL  FRIENDS   IN   WYOMING  AND   IDAHO 

WHOSE    LOVE    HE    WILL    ALWAYS    CHERISH,    AND    TO 

THAT  LARGE  COMPANY  OF  GENEROUS  HELPERS  IN 

THE  EAST  WHO  HELD  UP  HIS  HANDS   DURING 

ELEVEN  YEARS   OF  A  MISSIONARY  BISHOP'S 

LIFE,      THESE      REMINISCENCES      ARE 

AFFECTIONATELY     DEDICATED    BY 

THE  AUTHOR 


•^ 


CONTENTS 

CHAP.  PAGE 

\       I.          Wyoming  and  Idaho  in   1887 i 

pj     II.        My  First  Missionary  Journey 17 

'»^     III.      Old  Chief  Washakie 26 


hVv 


IV.  A  Mining-Camp  in  Idaho 41 

V.  A  Visit  to  Clayton  Gulch o     .  56 

VI.  In  and  Out  of  the  Stage-Coach 70 

VII.  The  Coeur  d'Alene  Country 86 

VIII.  The  Tenderfoot  and  Old  Pete 100 

^       IX.      Some  Wyoming  and  Idaho  Missionaries   .     .     .  116 

^     X.        Two  Familiar  Types 137 

XI.  Here  and  There  Among  My  Flock 151 

XII.  A  Month  in  the  Woods 172 

XIII.  Tessy 185 

XIV.  Making  the  Work  Known 197 

XV.  MORMONISM    and    THE    MORMONS 215 

XVI.  The  Red-Man  and  Uncle  Sam 241 


ILLUSTRATIONS 

ETHELBERT    TALBOT Frontispiece 

THE    REV.  JOHN    ROBERTS    AND    HIS    INDIAN    SCHOOL     .  Facing  p.      12 

REV.    SHERMAN    COOLIDGE "  14 

OLD    CHIEF    WASHAKIE "  30 

"a  COMPANY  OF  SIX,   BESIDES  THE  guide"    ....  "  174 

BISHOP    TALBOT "  180 

THE    LARAMIE    CATHEDRAL "  igg 

RT.  REV.  ABIEL  LEONARD,   D.D.,   LL.D.,   BISHOP  OF  SALT 

LAKE "  212 

BRIGHAM    YOUNG "  222 

THE    MORMON    TEMPLE,    SALT    LAKE "  228 

AN  INDIAN  TEPEE  ON  WIND  RIVER  RESERVATION  .  "  242 
SHOSHONE     INDIAN     MISSION,    NEAR    FORT    WASHAKIE, 

WYOMING "  258 


PREFACE 

THE  experiences  herein  related  took  place  dur- 
ing the  eleven  years  in  which  the  author  had 
the  great  privilege  of  ministering  as  a  bishop  to  the 
warm-hearted  and  generous  pioneers  of  the  Rocky- 
Mountain  region  embraced  in  the  territory  now  in- 
cluded in  the  states  of  Wyoming  and  Idaho.  Dur- 
ing that  time,  he  had  the  happiness  of  knowing  the 
people  as  they  lived  in  the  mining-camp,  on  the 
ranch,  in  the  excitement  of  the  round-up,  as  they 
followed  their  herds  of  sheep,  or  indulged  in  the 
recreation  of  hunting  big  game  in  the  forests  or  sage- 
chicken  on  the  plains,  or  as  they  beguiled  the  happy 
hours  with  rod  and  line  in  that  angler's  paradise. 

A  more  kindly  hospitality  no  bishop  ever  received, 
and,  as  he  recalls  those  years  after  the  lapse  of  time, 
they  are  as  vivid  as  the  memory  of  yesterday's 
events.  It  has  been  a  positive  delight  and  refresh- 
ment, in  the  midst  of  the  busy  life  of  an  Eastern 
bishop,  to  live  over  again  the  scenes  so  fondly 
cherished,  and  to  summon  before  him  the  familiar 
faces  of  the  friends  whom  he  then  learned  to  honor 
and  to  love. 

The  peculiar  conditions  in  whose  atmosphere  this 

13? 


PREFACE 

recital  was  made  possible  no  longer  exist;  for  the 
advent  of  the  railroad,  and  the  consequent  customs 
and  usages  of  the  East,  have  caused  that  civilization, 
which  had  in  it  all  the  fascination  of  romance  and 
adventure,  to  pass  away. 

Some  of  the  stories  with  which  this  volume  is 
made  less  tedious  will  no  doubt  be  familiar  to  those 
of  his  readers  who  have  heard  the  author  relate 
them  in  his  missionary  addresses,  when  from  time 
to  time  he  would  visit  the  East  to  gather  funds  to 
enable  him  to  build  the  churches  and  schools  in  his 
widely  scattered  field,  or  to  get  men  to  aid  him  in 
the  work  of  evangelization. 

If  he  has  not  laid  as  much  emphasis  on  the  diffi- 
culties and  discouragements  which  he  encountered 
as  upon  the  brighter  side  of  his  experience,  it  is  not 
because  there  were  no  obstacles  to  overcome,  but 
rather  because,  in  the  retrospect,  the  more  pleas- 
ant memories  stand  out  in  bold  relief.  Even  when 
the  anxieties  and  responsibilities  of  his  official  life 
weighed  most  heavily  upon  him,  the  writer  was  often 
vouchsafed  some  measure  of  that  saving  grace  of 
humor  which  enabled  him  to  meet  situations  other- 
wise insuperable,  and  to  gather  courage  whereby 
he  could  with  better  patience  await  results. 

If  in  any  small  degree  he  has  been  enabled  to  put 
in  more  permanent  form  the  picture  of  the  life  of 
the  Far  West  as  he  then  knew  it,  and  thus  to  crystal- 
lize a  civilization  now  almost,  if  not  entirely,  gone, 
perhaps  he  will  have  made  some  slight  contribution 


PREFACE 

to  the  history  of  that  typically  American  part  of 
our  country,  not  only  on  its  ecclesiastical,  but  also 
on  its  social  and  economic  side. 

Necessarily,  in  recounting  the  events  so  closely 
identified  with  his  own  life  and  work,  these  stories 
have  assumed  an  autobiographical  character  to  a 
larger  extent  than  the  author  could  wish.  He  can 
only  humbly  crave  the  indulgence  of  his  readers  if 
this  feature  should  be  more  prominent  than  the 
canons  of  good  taste  might  seem  to  justify. 

E.  T. 


MY  PEOPLE  OF  THE   PLAINS 


MY  PEOPLE   OF  THE  PLAINS 

CHAPTER  I 

WYOMING  AND   IDAHO   IN   1887 

IT  was  at  the  General  Convention  which  met  in 
Chicago  in  October,  1886,  that  the  missionary- 
district  of  Wyoming  and,  Idaho  was  created  by  the 
House  of  Bishops,  and  I  was  elected  as  its  first 
bishop.  Until  that  time  Wyoming  had  been  placed 
under  the  provisional  care  of  the  Rt.  Rev.  John 
Franklin  Spalding,  D.D.,  Bishop  of  Colorado,  while 
Idaho  had  formed  a  part  of  the  extensive  field  com- 
mitted to  the  Rt.  Rev.  Daniel  S.  Tuttle,  D.D.,  who 
had  also  at  one  time  under  his  jurisdiction  Montana 
and,  more  recently,  Utah.  As  Bishop  Tuttle  had 
recently  been  called  to  be  Bishop  of  Missouri,  thus 
leaving  Idaho  without  episcopal  supervision,  and 
as  the  rapid  growth  and  development  of  the  new 
State  of  Colorado  demanded  the  entire  time  of  its 
own  bishop,  it  was  deemed  expedient  to  combine 
Wyoming  and  Idaho  into  one  missionary  district. 
When  the  telegram  informing  me  that  I  had  been 


MY   PEOPLE   OF   THE   PLAINS 

elected  Bishop  of  Wyoming  and  Idaho  reached  me, 
I  was  the  rector  of  St.  James's  Church,  Macon,  Mis- 
souri, and  also  head-master  of  St.  James's  Military 
Academy,  which  I  had  established  in  the  same  town. 
This  was  a  school  for  boys  which  had  grown  from 
small  beginnings  to  an  institution  demanding  my 
entire  time,  and  in  which  I  was  deeply  interested. 
Therefore,  when  the  summons  came  to  go  west  as 
a  bishop,  I  hesitated,  for  I  had  cherished  the  pur- 
pose of  devoting  my  life  to  the  work  of  Christian 
education  among  boys.  After  considering  the  mat- 
ter for  about  six  months,  I  made  up  my  mind  to 
decline  the  honor  of  being  a  bishop  and  abide  by 
my  chosen  work. 

This  decision  having  been  reached,  I  had  already 
written  to  the  presiding  bishop,  and  was  about  to 
post  the  letter  setting  forth  the  reasons  that  impelled 
me  to  remain  with  the  school,  when,  unexpectedly, 
I  received  a  communication  from  another  venerable 
and  much-beloved  bishop.  This  was  the  Bishop  of 
Springfield,  who,  it  seems,  had  nominated  me  in  the 
House  of  Bishops.  He  had  been  my  professor  and 
my  dean  in  the  General  Theological  Seminary.  He 
addressed  me  with  great  solemnity  and  plainness  of 
speech.  He  reminded  me  that  I  had  been  chosen 
tmanimously  by  the  House  of  Bishops,  after  a 
celebration  of  the  Holy  Communion,  in  which  the 
guidance  of  the  Holy  Spirit  had  been  invoked.  He 
said  he  had  heard  that  I  was  about  to  disobey  the 
authoritative  command  of  my  fathers  and  refuse  to 


WYOMING  AND   IDAHO 

take  up  the  great  work  to  which  they  had  chosen 
me;  that  he  understood  the  reason  I  intended  to 
give  was  that  I  had  a  school  to  which  I  was  attached ; 
that  he  had  never  heard  of  the  school  until  recently, 
and  that  he  ventured  to  believe  few  persons  outside 
of  the  State  of  Missouri  knew  of  its  existence ;  that 
no  doubt  the  school  needed,  more  than  anything  else, 
a  new  head,  and  w^ould  develop  unsuspected  strength 
if  it  could  only  be  relieved  of  my  presence ;  that  he 
was  amazed  that  I  should  hesitate,  as  a  good  soldier, 
to  obey  when  commanded ;  that,  in  the  great  empire 
to  which  the  Church  was  sending  me,  I  should  have 
ample  opportunity  to  found  schools  and  Christian 
institutions  and  to  guide  the  plastic  life  of  a  new 
country.  In  conclusion,  the  bishop  pleaded  with  me 
to  have  the  courage  to  do  what  I  had  been  bidden 
under  the  highest  and  most  solemn  sanction. 

As  I  thought  it  over,  it  gradually  dawned  upon 
me  that  the  good  bishop  was  right  and  I  was  wrong ; 
that  what  seemed  to  me  a  large  thing  was,  after  all, 
comparatively  small ;  and  that  it  was  a  vain  delusion 
to  imagine  myself  at  all  necessary  to  the  life  of  the 
school.  Succeeding  years  have  borne  out  the  bish- 
op's prophecy  so  far  as  the  school  is  concerned.  It 
soon  became  large  and  rich  and  strong,  and  is  now 
doing  a  work  for  the  Mississippi  Valley  which  it 
could  never  have  accomplished  with  the  limited 
means  and  poor  leadership  at  my  command. 

I  was  consecrated  bishop  in  Christ  Church  Cathe- 
dral,  St.   Louis,  on  May  27,   1887.     In  the  latter 

3 


MY  PEOPLE   OF  THE   PLAINS 

part  of  the  following  July  I  left  for  Wyoming.  My 
objective  point  was  Cheyenne.  I  remember  that 
Bishop  Whipple,  who  officiated  as  my  consecrator, 
said:  "My  young  brother,  Cheyenne  is  the  richest 
town  of  its  size  in  the  whole  world  to-day."  The 
bishop  had  a  son,  Major  Charles  Whipple,  pay- 
master in  the  army,  whose  headquarters  were  in 
that  city.  But  even  when  the  bishop  spoke,  a 
serious  change  had  taken  place  in  Cheyenne.  It 
had  until  then  been  the  home  of  the  great  cattle 
kings,  and,  no  doubt,  there  was  much  truth  in  the 
statement  as  to  its  enormous  wealth ;  but  the  mem- 
orable winter  of  1886-1887  witnessed  an  almost 
complete  destruction  of  the  cattle  on  the  plains. 
It  was  conservatively  estimated  that  seventy-five 
out  of  every  one  hundred  head  perished  in  the 
blizzards  that  raged  with  such  merciless  severity 
during  that  long  winter.  So  profitable  had  the 
cattle  interest  become  that  those  engaged  in  it  had 
felt  justified  in  investing  all  they  had  in  that  busi- 
ness, and  also  in  mortgaging  their  credit  to  the 
uttermost  limit  and  going  heavily  in  debt.  The 
result  was  that,  when  the  crisis  came,  not  only  were 
the  cattle  gone,  but  large  liabilities  and  no  assets 
wherewith  to  meet  them  faced  those  who  had 
counted  their  wealth  by  hundreds  of  thousands 
and  even  millions.  It  took  years  for  Wyoming  to 
recover  from  the  wide-spread  and  desolating  losses 
then  incurred,  and  the  depression  of  feeling  resting 
upon  the  little  city  of  Cheyenne  at  the  time  of  my 

4 


WYOMING   AND    IDAHO 

first  visit  was  pathetically  evident.  Still,  the  peo- 
ple were  brave  and  full  of  hope  under  the  wise 
leadership  of  their  beloved  rector,  the  Rev.  Dr. 
George  C.  Rafter.  A  substantial  stone  church  had 
been  erected  and  roof  put  on,  but  there  was  no 
money  to  be  had  wherewith  to  complete  the  in- 
terior. A  loan  —  long  since  paid  off  —  was  soon 
negotiated  with  the  Church  Building  Fund  Com- 
mission in  New  York,  and  the  church  was  finished. 
The  question  of  the  bishop's  residence  at  once 
confronted  me.  Cheyenne,  Laramie,  and  Rawlins, 
in  Wyoming,  and  Boise  in  Idaho,  were  all  kind 
enough  to  invite  me.  At  last  a  proposition  from 
Laramie,  agreeing  to  build  a  suitable  house,  was 
accepted.  Here  the  State  university  had  been 
located,  and  it  was  also  less  remote  from  the  centre 
of  the  vast  field.  While  the  question  was  still 
pending,  I  remember  that  the  venerable  rector  of 
Rawlins  pointed  out  a  mansard-roof  house  of  con- 
siderable size,  which  he  assured  me  would  be  given 
if  only  I  would  make  that  city  my  home.  He  added 
that,  so  far  as  meat  was  concerned,  all  I  should  have 
to  do  would  be  to  step  out  on  the  hills  adjoining  the 
house  and,  with  my  Winchester,  bring  down  a  fine 
elk  whenever  it  was  needed.  At  that  time  there 
was  only  one  railroad,  the  Union  Pacific,  which 
skirted  the  southern  border  of  Wyoming,  and, 
under  the  name  of  the  Oregon  Short  Line,  ran 
diagonally  through  the  State  of  Idaho.  My  diocese 
comprised  a  territory  larger  than  all  the  New  Eng- 

5 


MY   PEOPLE   OF   THE    PLAINS 

land  and  Middle  States  combined,  with  the  State 
of  Maryland  included;  and  from  Cheyenne  in  the 
southwestern  corner  to  the  northern  end  of  the 
Pan-Handle — touching  the  British  possessions — in 
Idaho,  by  the  course  one  had  to  travel,  the  distance 
was  over  fifteen  hundred  miles. 

I  soon  ascertained  that  the  population  was  small 
and  scattered  in  little  communities,  or  grouped  in 
mining -camps  far  away  from  the  railway.  Only 
ten  churches  were  to  be  found  in  Wyoming,  and  four 
in  Idaho.  If  the  people  were  to  be  reached  at  all, 
it  could  only  be  accomplished  by  long  journeys  by 
stage  or  buck-board,  or  by  mountain  trails,  impas- 
sable in  winter. 

My  impressions  of  the  people  who  lived  along  the 
line  of  the  railroad  was  that  they  were  bright,  in- 
telligent, and  enterprising.  While  not  irreligious, 
many  of  them,  through  lack  of  regular  services, 
had  become  careless  about  attending  church.  They 
were  glad  to  welcome  the  clergyman  in  their  midst, 
and,  whether  church-goers  or  not,  would  often  con- 
tribute liberally  towards  the  maintenance  of  the 
work.  In  nearly  every  instance  they  had  been  af- 
filiated in  their  homes,  "back  East,"  with  some  re- 
ligious body. 

After  having  visited  the  places  accessible  by  rail, 
I  began  to  seek  acquaintance  with  the  remote  set- 
tlements in  the  interior.  Here  the  scattered  popu- 
lation were  chiefly  engaged  in  stock-raising,  includ- 
ing cattle,  horses,  and  sheep. 

6 


WYOMING   AND    IDAHO 

The  blizzards  that  destroyed  so  many  herds  in 
Wyoming  did  not  rage  so  furiously  in  Idaho,  al- 
though causing  much  damage  there.  The  large, 
open  plains,  generally  without  fences,  gave  ample 
range  to  the  various  herds.  Each  company  or  own- 
er had  a  brand  which  was  duly  registered,  thus  pre- 
empting it  from  use  by  others.  This  brand  was 
burned  on  the  new  calves  at  the  round-ups,  of  which 
there  were  two  every  year,  in  the  spring  and  autumn. 
These  were  about  the  only  occasions  when  the 
managers  of  the  ranches  actually  saw  their  cattle. 
The  herds,  which  ranged  over  a  certain  large  district, 
were  corralled  and  driven  by  the  cow-boys  to  one 
place  of  rendezvous,  and  then  each  owner  "cut 
out,"  or  separated,  such  of  his  cattle  as  were  ready 
to  be  shipped  to  market,  branded  the  calves,  took 
account  of  the  stock,  and  made  their  reports.  The 
cattle  were  then  turned  loose  until  the  next  round-up. 

One  great  source  of  loss  in  the  cattle  business  in 
those  days  came  from  the  unscrupulous  thieves 
who,  between  the  round-up  periods,  would  catch 
and  put  their  own  brands  on  calves  following  cows 
belonging  to  other  herds.  After  the  calf  was  weaned 
it  was  impossible  to  tell  to  which  herd  it  belonged, 
and  the  brand  became  prima  facie  evidence  of 
ownership.  These  cattle,  thus  practically  stolen, 
were  called  "mavericks,"  and  so  adroitly  was  the 
practice  carried  out  that  it  was  next  to  impossible 
to  prove  the  crime.  When  evidence  was  secured, 
no  mercy  was  shown  the  thief.     Stealing  cattle  or 

7   • 


MY   PEOPLE   OF   THE    PLAINS 

horses  became  a  more  heinous  offence  than  that 
of  killing  a  human  being,  and  was  frequently  pun- 
ished by  the  summary  process  of  lynch-law.  On 
one  occasion  a  certain  woman  who  had  long  been 
suspected,  and  who  bore  an  unsavory  reputation, 
when  her  guilt  became  unmistakably  clear,  was 
taken  from  her  home  by  a  party  of  men  and  piti- 
lessly hung.  Such  was  the  public  sentiment  in  a 
matter  of  so  grave  moment  to  the  chief  business 
interest  of  the  State  that  no  jury  could  be  found  to 
return  a  verdict  of  guilty  against  the  perpetrator 
of  the  deed.  So  well  was  this  understood  that  fre- 
quently no  arrests  were  made.  It  seemed  neces- 
sary to  strike  terror  into  the  minds  of  the  evilly 
disposed  by  such  heroic  measures,  unless,  indeed, 
cattle  -  raising  were  to  be  abandoned  altogether. 
One  can  easily  see  how  great  the  temptation  to 
steal  and  what  abundant  facilities  were  offered. 
Hence  the  deterring  influences  had  to  be  corre- 
spondingly severe. 

It  was  not  the  custom  at  that  time  to  feed  the 
cattle  during  the  winter,  and  they  were  left  entirely 
at  the  mercy  of  the  elements,  which  sometimes 
proved  fatal.  A  new  era  has  now  dawned  in  this 
respect,  and,  through  the  increased  area  of  irrigated 
lands,  much  hay  is  cut,  and  the  large,  open  ranges 
have  given  place  to  fenced  enclosures  where  the 
stock  is  carefully  protected.  This  change  is  at  once 
in  the  interest  of  mercy  and  thrift.  Since  it  has 
been  adopted,  the  percentage  of  loss  from  the  severe 

8 


WYOMING   AND   IDAHO 

winters  has  been  greatly  reduced;  and,  while  the 
herds  have  become  smaller,  the  business  has  been 
more  reliable  and  yielded  better  profits.  It  has, 
however,  practically  eliminated  the  cow-boy,  who 
once  figured  so  picturesquely  in  the  life  of  the  West. 

Horse-raising  assumed  at  one  time  a  large  com- 
mercial importance  and  assured  good  returns.  The 
horse  was  a  better  "rustler,"  as  it  was  termed,  than 
the  steer,  and  could  make  his  way  through  the  snow 
and  find  his  provender,  while  the  unfortimate  cattle 
would  starve.  Hence,  the  losses  in  horse-raising 
were  comparatively  small,  and,  when  the  market 
was  brisk,  there  was  a  large  marginal  profit.  That 
industry  has  been  seriously  affected  by  the  modern 
methods  of  locomotion,  such  as  the  trolley,  bicycle, 
and  automobile.  On  the  other  hand,  there  has 
been,  from  time  to  time,  a  greatly  increased  demand, 
on  account  of  the  war  with  Spain  and  the  South 
African  struggle,  which  called  for  large  consign- 
ments of  horses.  The  quality  of  the  Western  bronco 
— the  product  of  the  hard  conditions  under  which 
he  has  grown — has  made  him  famous  for  toughness 
of  fibre  and  a  certain  kind  of  villany  when  his  tem- 
per is  aroused. 

Perhaps  one  of  the  most  profitable  industries  in 
that  western  land  in  1887  was  sheep-growing.  The 
high  plateaus,  foot-hills,  and  mountain  lands,  where 
the  grass  is  very  nutritious,  furnished  excellent 
pasturage  for  sheep,  which,  by  instinct,  can  dig 
down  through  the  snow  and  get  their  food,  and  thus 

9 


MY   PEOPLE   OF   THE   PLAINS 

survive  the  winter.  One  man  often  owns  a  herd 
numbering  many  thousand.  A  notable  sheepman 
of  my  acquaintance  possessed  as  many  as  eighty 
thousand  head.  The  flock  assigned  to  one  sheep- 
herder  numbers  from  two  to  three  thousand,  rarely 
more.  The  life  of  a  sheep-herder  is  a  peculiarly 
lonely  one.  Often  months  pass  without  giving  him 
the  opportunity  of  seeing  a  human  being.  His 
faithful  dog  is  his  only  companion.  He  generally 
has  a  team  and  a  covered  wagon  in  which  he  sleeps 
at  night  during  the  winter,  and  wherein  he  stores 
the  necessary  provisions  for  his  daily  food.  It  is 
his  duty  to  seek  the  best  available  pasturage,  and, 
when  the  grass  in  one  neighborhood  has  been  ex- 
hausted, to  drive  the  flock  to  a  new  and  fresh  sup- 
ply. It  is  not  to  be  wondered  at  that  such  a  life 
often  ends  in  insanity.  It  is  said  that  the  asylums 
are  repleted  year  by  year  by  a  large  contingent  of 
these  unfortunates.  Indeed,  their  lot  is  a  most 
pathetic  one,  and  they  sometimes  even  lose  the  power 
of  speech  and  forget  their  own  names.  Their  condi- 
tion is  often  rendered  more  pitiable  from  the  fact 
that  between  the  cattle  and  sheepmen  a  most  bitter 
antagonism  exists.  This  has  been  caused  by  dis- 
sensions arising  from  the  occupation  of  pasture-land. 
Where  a  flock  of  sheep  has  long  run  no  food  is  left 
for  cattle,  for  they  eat  the  grass  so  closely  and 
trample  the  ground  in  such  a  manner  as  to  destroy 
it  for  other  stock.  Where  the  land  all  belongs  to 
the  government,  one  has,  technically,  as  much  right 

lO 


WYOMING   AND   IDAHO 

as  another.  The  advent  of  a  large  flock  of  sheep  is 
always  resented  by  the  cow-boy,  and  many  have 
been  the  deadly  feuds  that  have  arisen.  In  the 
interests  of  peace,  a  sort  of  distribution  is  some- 
times made,  allotting  large  areas  to  the  sheepmen 
with  the  understanding  that  they  do  not  invade  the 
territory  reserved  for  other  stock. 

In  addition  to  the  population  engaged  in  the 
above  vocations  should  be  mentioned  those  living 
in  the  valleys  where  farming  is  practicable  by  reason 
of  the  facilities  there  found  for  water  from  irrigating 
ditches.  Through  the  large  government  appropria- 
tions made  during  President  Roosevelt's  administra- 
tion, this  farming  element  is  rapidly  increasing,  and 
is  destined  to  become  influential.  Mr.  Roosevelt's 
personal  knowledge  of  the  Far  West  has  led  him  to 
see  that  the  government  could  not  possibly  make  a 
wiser  investment  than  thus  to  redeem  by  water  the 
millions  of  acres  now  practically  desert  land.  The 
soil  is  very  rich  and  produces  enormously  when  sup- 
plied by  water.  I  believe  it  was  Senator  Stewart, 
of  Nevada,  who,  on  the  floor  of  the  Senate  many 
years  ago,  was  pleading  in  vain  for  such  an  appro- 
priation. In  the  course  of  his  remarks,  he  is  quoted 
as  saying,  * 

"Gentlemen,  I  do  not  hesitate  to  declare  that 
only  two  things  are  necessary  to  make  that  country 
one  of  the  fairest  and  most  attractive  on  the  face 
of  the  earth.  Those  two  things  are  plenty  of  water 
and  good  society." 

II 


MY   PEOPLE   OF  THE   PLAINS 

At  this  point  one  of  his  colleagues,  who  was  op- 
posing the  appropriation  and  who  was  somewhat  of 
a  wag,  rose  and  said : 

"Mr.  Chairman,  with  your  permission,  may  I  ask 
the  Senator  from  Nevada  a  question?" 

"Certainly,"  said  the  chairman. 

"Did  I  understand  the  Senator  from  Nevada  to 
say  that  plenty  of  water  and  good  society  are  the 
only  two  things  that  his  country  needs?" 

"That  is  just  precisely  what  I  said,"  replied  the 
Senator. 

"Then,  may  I  venture  to  remind  the  Senator 
from  Nevada  that  there  is  another  region  of  which 
the  Good  Book  speaks,  where  the  only  two  things 
necessary  are  plenty  of  water  and  good  society.  I 
do  not  mean,  of  course,  that,  in  other  respects,  Ne- 
vada is  at  all  like  that  place." 

Still,  the  Senator  was  right,  after  all,  and  when 
the  water  is  supplied,  as  it  soon  will  be,  that  wil- 
derness must  inevitably  blossom  as  the  rose. 

Before  closing  this  description  of  the  constituent 
elements  that  made  up  my  diversified  diocese,  I 
must  mention  the  Indians.  Those  on  the  Wind 
River  Reservation  in  Wyoming  were  allotted  eccle- 
siastically by  General  Grant  to  the  care  of  the  Epis- 
copal Church.  Their  first  missionary  was  the  Rev- 
erend John  Roberts,  who  went  to  that  reservation 
about  twenty-five  years  ago.  He  was  a  Welshman 
and  a  university  graduate.  He  was  ordained  by  the 
great  Bishop  Selwyn,  who  had  recently  been  trans- 

12 


< 


o 

K 

O 
M 
W 

> 

c 


> 

en 

n 

X 

o 

o 
r 


WYOMING   AND    IDAHO 

lated  from  the  South  Sea  Islands,  where  he  had 
done  such  heroic  service.  After  his  ordination,  Mr. 
Roberts  asked  his  bishop's  blessing  and  permission 
to  leave  his  native  country  and  cross  the  Atlantic 
and  devote  his  life  to  the  service  of  the  North  Ameri- 
can Indian  in  the  Far  West.  The  bishop  had  a  very 
high  opinion  of  the  young  priest,  and  had  already 
determined  to  place  him  in  an  important  position, 
but  his  own  missionary  heart  beat  in  loving  sym- 
pathy with  the  cause,  and,  as  much  as  he  loved 
Roberts,  he  could  not  hesitate  to  wish  him  God- 
speed. The  young  clergyman,  therefore,  left  for 
New  York,  where  he  offered  himself  to  our  Board 
of  Missions  for  work  among  the  Indians.  At  that 
time  the  Rev.  Dr.  Twing  was  our  general  secretary. 
It  happened  that  the  Bishop  of  Colorado,  who  had 
charge  of  Wyoming,  was  looking  for  a  good  man  to 
send  to  the  Wind  River  Reservation,  where  the 
Shoshone  and  Arapahoe  tribes  had  just  been  settled. 
The  Rev.  Mr.  Roberts's  arrival  was  most  opportune, 
and  he  proceeded  immediately  to  the  field  of  his 
labors.  It  was  in  December,  and  the  journey  in- 
volved the  long  stage -ride  from  Rawlins  to  Fort 
Washakie.  The  party  was  overtaken  by  a  blizzard 
on  their  way,  and  narrowly  escaped  freezing  to 
death.  Upon  reaching  the  Indian  reservation,  the 
new  missionary  was  welcomed  by  the  government 
agent  and  made  at  home  by  the  officers  and  soldiers 
recently  stationed  at  Fort  Washakie.  It  was  not 
long  before  he  had  established  cordial  relations  be- 

13 


MY   PEOPLE   OF   THE   PLAINS 

tween  himself  and  the  two  tribes.  He  so  far  over- 
came the  difficulties  of  the  two  Indian  dialects  that, 
aided  by  the  sign-language,  he  could  make  himself 
understood.  His  disinterested  devotion  to  their 
welfare  has  been  so  evident  that  he  has  won  his  way 
to  their  hearts,  and  his  influence  over  them  has  been 
most  wholesome.  They  call  him  their  ' '  big  brother, ' ' 
and  trust  him  implicitly.  He  is  said  to  be  the  only 
white  man  who  has  ever  been  permitted  to  see  the 
sacred  pipe  of  the  Arapahoes.  His  position  has  not 
always  been  an  easy  one.  There  have  been  times 
when,  had  he  been  a  man  of  less  discretion,  good- 
sense,  and  humility,  he  might  easily  have  lost  their 
confidence  on  the  one  hand,  or  incurred  the  invidious 
criticism  of  the  government  officials  on  the  other. 

I  once  said  to  Mr.  Roberts,  thinking  that  perhaps, 
with  a  growing  family,  he  might  wish  a  more  com- 
fortable work,  * '  My  dear  fellow,  whenever  you  wish 
to  leave  your  present  position,  I  am  ready  to  give 
you  the  best  parish  at  my  disposal." 

He  looked  at  me  with  a  sad  expression,  and  re- 
plied, "Thank  you.  Bishop,  but  I  hope  you  will 
never  take  me  away  from  my  Indians.  If  you  will 
allow  me,  I  prefer  to  spend  my  life  here  among  my 
adopted  people."  It  is  not  strange  that  they  should 
love  a  man  with  such  a  spirit. 

For  some  years  Mr.  Roberts  has  had  associated 
with  him  in  his  work  the  Reverend  Sherman  Cool- 
idge,  a  full-blooded  Arapahoe  priest.  Mr.  Coolidge 
was  the  son  of  a  warrior  who  had  been  slain  in  a  bat- 

14 


REV.    SHERMAN    COOLIDGE 
A  full-blooded  Arapahoe  priest 


; 


WYOMING   AND    IDAHO 

tie  with  the  whites.  His  mother  committed  him  to 
the  care  of  an  officer,  and  he  was  later  adopted  into 
the  family  of  Captain  and  Mrs.  Coolidge,  of  the  army, 
who  brought  him  up  as  a  member  of  their  own 
family.  Having  early  expressed  a  desire  to  study 
for  holy  orders,  and  to  return  and  preach  the 
Gospel  to  his  own  people,  he  was  sent  to  Shattuck 
School,  Faribault,  where  Bishop  Whipple  took  a 
warm  personal  interest  in  him.  After  being  gradu- 
ated at  Shattuck,  he  entered  the  Seabury  Divinity 
School,  and  finished  the  course  in  theology.  Subse- 
quently he  pursued  a  post-graduate  course  at  Hobart 
College.  The  case  of  the  Rev.  Mr.  Coolidge  furnishes 
an  excellent  illustration  of  what  education  and  the 
refining  influences  of  a  Christian  home  may  accom- 
plish for  the  red-man.  This  worthy  clergyman  is,  in 
every  respect,  an  honor  to  his  race.  He  is  a  culti- 
vated, Christian  gentleman.  In  physical  form  and 
feature  he  is  a  fine  specimen  of  the  Arapahoe  tribe, 
tall,  erect,  broad-shouldered,  and  full-chested.  His 
presence  is  at  once  commanding  and  dignified.  For 
more  than  twenty  ^ipars  he  has  faithfully  served  his 
people.  Recently  Mr.  Coolidge  had  the  good  fortune 
to  marry  a  devout  and  accomplished  young  woman 
from  New  York.  Miss  Wetherbee  had  taken  a  course 
of  study  in  the  deaconess  house  in  that  city,  and 
then  went  to  the  Wind  River  agency  to  assist  the 
Rev.  Mr.  Roberts  in  his  missionary  work.  She 
brings  to  the  discharge  of  her  duties  intelligence  and 
great  enthusiasm,  and  her  marriage  to  the  Rev.  Mr. 

15 


MY   PEOPLE   OF   THE    PLAINS 

Coolidge  will  mean  much  in  the  way  of  advancing 
the  spiritual  and  social  condition  of  the  Indian 
women  and  children. 

Such,  in  1887,  were  the  conditions,  economic  and 
religious,  of  the  people  to  whom  I  was  sent  as  the 
first  missionary  bishop  of  Wyoming  and  Idaho. 


CHAPTER  II 

MY  FIRST  MISSIONARY  JOURNEY 

IT  was  a  typical  Wyoming  day  in  August.  The 
air  was  crisp  and  cool  and  bracing.  The  stage 
left  Cheyenne  promptly  at  six  in  the  morning.  As 
one  seated  himself  beside  the  driver  on  the  high  box, 
which  is  considered  the  choice  place  and  must  be 
reserved  in  advance,  and  breathed  the  ozone  of  the 
plains,  a  peculiar  sense  of  exhilaration  came  over 
him.  It  was  my  first  stage-ride  in  the  Far  West. 
I  began  to  congratulate  myself  on  the  prospect  of 
an  enjoyable  time.  I  have  since  learned,  by  long 
experience,  that  the  best  part  of  a  stage-ride  is  the 
first  hour  or  two.  After  one  has  ridden  all  day  and 
all  night,  and  perhaps  the  greater  part  of  the  second 
day,  the  idea  of  enjoyment  has  departed.  They 
change  horses  every  fifteen  or  twenty  miles,  and  the 
driver  is  relieved  at  nightfall  by  some  one  to  take 
his  place,  but  the  unfortunate  passenger  who  is 
booked  to  the  end  of  the  route  gets  no  change.  On 
this  occasion  it  was  about  four  in  the  afternoon  on 
the  second  day  that  I  arrived  at  my  destination. 
I  was  covered  with  alkali  -  dust,  and  must  have 
looked  as  unlike  a  bishop  as  possible. 

17 


MY   PEOPLE   OF   THE   PLAINS 

As  the  stage  halted  and  I  aHghted,  I  was  cord- 
ially greeted  by  a  man  in  his  shirt  -  sleeves.  He 
offered  his  services,  and  said  he  thought  I  looked 
like  a  parson.  After  a  little  conversation,  I  told 
him  who  I  was. 

' '  Why,  are  you  the  bishop  ?  Well,  I  am  delighted 
to  see  you.     What  can  I  do  for  you?" 

I  asked  him  if  he  could  tell  me  where  my  old 
friend  from  Missouri,  Mr.  Robinson,  lived. 

"Do  you  mean  Billy  Robinson?"  he  asked. 

"Yes,"  I  replied.  "They  used  to  call  him  'Will- 
iam' back  in  Missouri,  but  that  is  the  man," 

"Oh  yes,"  said  he,  "I  know  Billy  Robinson  well. 
In  fact,  I  busted  broncos  for  Billy  for  two  years. 
Billy  is  a  fine  fellow.  Everybody  knows  Billy. 
And  so  you  are  a  friend  of  Billy  Robinson!  How 
glad  he  will  be  to  see  you!  He  lives  about  two 
miles  out  of  town.  He  has  a  big  ranch,  and  is  get- 
ting rich.  Bishop,  if  you  will  let  me,  I  will  be 
proud  to  take  you  out  to  Billy's  place." 

I  thanked  him  for  his  offer. 

He  then  said,  "I  am  sorry.  Bishop,  not  to  give 
you  a  carriage.  It  is  a  pity  not  to  give  a  bishop  a 
carriage,  but  there  are  no  carriages  here.  This  is  a 
new  town.     But  can  you  ride  a  bronco?" 

"Oh  yes,  thank  you,"  I  repHed.  "I  was  brought 
up  on  a  farm  and  educated  on  a  mule  and  am 
familiar  with  horses,  and  I  think  I  can  manage  a 
bronco." 

"Good,"   he  said.     "Now,   Bishop,   I   have  two 

i8 


MY   FIRST   MISSIONARY   JOURNEY 

broncos.  One  bucks  pretty  hard  and  the  other 
bucks  kind  o'  mild." 

"Well,"  said  I,  "suppose  you  let  me  have  the  one 
that  bucks  kind  of  mild." 

Accordingly,  we  were  soon  galloping  towards  Billy 
Robinson's  ranch.  My  bronco  proved  to  be  liter- 
ally a  "mild"  bucker,  and  only  indulged  that  natu- 
ral tendency  on  one  occasion,  when  I  jumped  him 
over  a  pair  of  bars,  and  my  valise,  which  I  was 
holding  in  front,  fell  on  his  neck.  As  we  reached 
the  outskirts  of  the  little  village,  I  remember  my 
new  friend  said  to  me: 

"Say,  Bishop,  I  want  to  put  myself  straight  with 
you.  I  believe  in  a  square  deal.  I  don't  want  you 
to  get  the  idea  that  I  am  one  of  your  religious 
fellows,  for  I  am  not.  I  am  a  Bob  Ingersoll  man 
through  and  through,  and  all  of  us  boys  here  are 
Bob  Ingersoll  men,  and  we  take  the  Boston  In- 
vestigator. My  name  is  Billy  Bartlett,  and  I  run 
this  saloon  here  in  town.  When  I  saw  you  get  out 
of  the  stage,  I  thought  you  looked  sort  o'  lonesome- 
like,  and  made  up  my  mind  to  give  you  the  glad- 
hand." 

I  thanked  him  for  his  courtesy,  and  tried  to  set 
him  at  ease  by  assuring  him  that  I  did  not  think 
Mr.  Ingersoll  so  bad  a  man  after  all ;  that  I  thought 
him  a  good  citizen  and  a  kind  father,  and  believed 
he  loved  his  fellow -man;  and  that  I  had  often 
thought  that  if  I  did  not  care  what  I  believed  as  to 
the  future,  I  might  be  a  Bob  Ingersoll  man  myself. 
3  19 


MY   PEOPLE    OF   THE   PLAINS 

"Especially,"  I  added,  facetiously,  "if  I  were  en- 
gaged in  your  line  of  business." 

"But  tell  me,  Mr.  Bartlett,"  I  continued,  "what 
is  the  Boston  Investigator?  I  have  often  heard  of 
Boston,  but  never,  until  now,  of  the  Boston  In- 
vestigator." 

"Ah,"  said  he,  "that  is  Bob's  paper.  It  has  lots 
of  jokes  in  it,  and  Bob  pokes  fun  at  Moses  and  the 
Bible,  and  we  boys  all  sit  around  the  stove  at  night 
and  laugh." 

So  the  conversation  went  on.  He  reminded  me 
that  "back  East"  he  used  to  go  to  church,  and  that 
his  uncle  was  a  ' '  Second  Advent ' '  preacher,  but  that 
he  had  not  been  to  "meetin'"  once  since  he  came 
West,  nearly  ten  years  ago. 

"Why,  Bishop,"  he  added,  "you  are  the  first 
preacher  that  ever  came  to  this  town." 

I  assured  him  that,  as  the  town  was  new  and  far 
distant  from  the  railroad,  the  church  was  a  little 
late  in  coming ;  but  that  I  hoped  some  arrangement 
might  be  made  to  have  regular  services  maintained. 

Soon  we  came  in  sight  of  Mr.  Robinson's  ranch, 
and  seeing  a  man  coming  out  of  the  barn,  Mr,  Bart- 
lett exclaimed: 

"There  he  is.  That's  Billy  Robinson.  Now, 
Bishop,  you  must  just  keep  this  bronco  and  use 
him  the  rest  of  the  day.  I  have  no  further  use  for 
him,  and  to-night  you  can  ride  him  into  church. 
Billy  Robinson  will  want  to  show  you  his  cattle  and 
horses  and  sheep  and  his  fine  ranch  and  irrigating 

20 


MY    FIRST   MISSIONARY   JOURNEY 

ditches,  and  then  he  will  give  you  a  good  supper 
and  bring  you  in  to  mcetin'.  So,  if  you  will  ex- 
cuse me.  Bishop,  I  will  go  back  in  town  and  round- 
up all  the  boys." 

"Oh,  thank  you  very  much,"  said  I.  "But  I  do 
not  think  that  is  at  all  necessary,  Mr.  Bartlett,  for 
I  sent  your  postmaster  a  number  of  printed  notices 
announcing  the  service  for  this  evening  in  the 
school-house.  I  also  wrote  him  a  polite  note  and 
asked  him  to  be  good  enough  to  let  all  the  people 
know  of  my  coming  in  advance." 

"Ah,  but  Bishop,  that  plan  did  not  work  at  all. 
No  doubt  the  postmaster  got  your  circulars,  but 
he  is  the  meanest  Bob  Ingcrsoll  man  in  the  whole 
business.  He  probably  stuck  all  your  posters  in  the 
stove.  No,  the  people  don't  know  you're  coming. 
Why,  I  didn't  even  know  it  myself.  So  you  must 
let  me  go,  and  I'll  send  out  some  cow-boys  on  their 
broncos,  and  we'll  round  -  up  every  galoot  in  the 
country,  and  pack  that  school-house  for  you." 

With  that  remark  he  turned  his  horse  around 
and  was  about  to  leave,  when  it  occurred  to  me  that 
I  had  made  no  provision  for  the  music. 

"Excuse  me,  Mr.  Bartlett,"  I  said,  "but  do  you 
sing?" 

"Now,  Bishop,"  he  replied,  "who  gave  me  away? 
Who  told  you  that  I  sing?  You  have  caught  right 
on  to  my  racket.  It  just  happens  that  I  am  a  jo- 
dandy  at  singing,  and  I  also  play  the  fiddle  and  the 
organ." 

21 


MY   PEOPLE   OF   THE   PLAINS 

"How  fortunate  I  am,"  I  remarked.  "Then  will 
you  take  charge  of  the  music?" 

He  demurred  at  first,  and  said  he  did  not  think  a 
fellow  of  his  kind  was  "fit  for  that  business."  But 
I  insisted.  I  told  him  we  should  not  try  the  chants 
or  anything  difficult,  but  simply  have  some  old 
familiar  hymns,  like  "Rock  of  Ages"  and  "Jesus 
Lover  of  My  Soul."     At  last  he  said: 

"Well,  Bishop,  if  you  say  so,  it  is  a  go.  I'll  do 
my  best." 

After  spending  the  rest  of  the  day  with  Mr. 
Robinson,  renewing  the  old  associations  and  memo- 
ries of  our  life  in  Missouri,  and  enjoying  the  excellent 
supper  so  hospitably  provided  for  me,  we  rode  back 
to  the  town.  To  my  surprise,  the  school-house  was 
indeed  crowded.  Every  available  space  in  the  little 
building  was  filled.  Never  in  my  life  did  I  preach  a 
sermon  where  I  was  given  a  more  reverent  and 
attentive  hearing.  As  to  Billy  Bartlett,  who  pre- 
sided at  the  organ,  he  sang,  as  his  friends  said, 
"like  a  bird."  After  the  service  he  came  up  to  me, 
and,  with  tears  in  his  eyes,  grasped  my  hand.  With 
much  emotion  he  thanked  me,  and  said : 

"Bishop,  that  talk  will  do  us  boys  a  world  of 
good.  That  is  the  kind  of  stuff  that  we  fellers  need. 
Can't  you  stay  over  and  give  us  another  to-morrow 
night?  There  are  some  of  the  boys  who  couldn't 
get  here  to-night  who  would  like  to  hear  you.  And 
are  we  never  to  have  a  church  ?  Can't  you  send  us 
a  preacher  ?     Bishop,  if  you  will  send  us  a  preacher, 

22 


MY   FIRST   MISSIONARY   JOURNEY 

all  of  us  chaps  will  pitch  in  and  support  him  and 
stand  by  him." 

It  was  not  long  after  this  visit  that  I  was  able  to 
secure  a  young  man  for  that  region  who  proved  most 
acceptable.  Nothing  could  have  teen  more  admi- 
rable than  the  manly  spirit  with  which  he  threw  him- 
self into  his  work,  and  soon  won  the  hearts  of  those 
sturdy  pioneers;  and  I  had  the  happiness  to  dedi- 
cate a  seemly  church  which  they  so  generously 
helped  to  build. 

It  was  a  year  later  that  I  visited  the  same  place. 
IVIeanwhile,  I  had  attended  the  great  missionary 
council  which  met  in  the  city  of  Washington.  It 
was  held  in  the  Church  of  the  Epiphany,  and  Bishop 
Whipple  was  in  the  chair.  It  was  late  when  I 
entered  the  crowded  building,  and  I  had  some  diffi- 
culty in  finding  a  seat.  Some  one  was  delivering  a 
missionary  address.  When  he  closed.  Bishop  Whip- 
ple arose,  and,  pointing  his  long  finger  towards  the 
remote  part  of  the  church  in  which  I  sat,  said: 

"  I  see  the  Bishop  of  Wyoming  and  Idaho  has  just 
come  in.     Come  this  way,  my  young  brother." 

As  I  had  had  no  intimation  that  I  should  be  called 
on  to  speak,  it  was  rather  an  embarrassing  situa- 
tion ;  but  I  had  to  obey.  When  I  reached  the  plat- 
form, the  good  bishop  put  his  arm  around  me,  and 
said: 

"Now,  my  brother,  tell  us  something  about  the 
progress  of  the  Kingdom  out  in  the  Rockies." 

Having  no  speech  prepared,  I  launched  forth  as 

23 


MY   PEOPLE   OF  THE   PLAINS 

best  I  could,  and  among  other  things  told  the 
people,  as  I  have  tried  to  tell  my  readers  now,  the 
story  of  Billy  Bartlett  and  Billy  Robinson  and  the 
bucking  bronco.  I  dwelt  upon  the  great  kindness 
these  two  good  friends  had  shown  me,  and  described 
the  solemn  and  impressive  service  in  that  little 
school-house  on  the  prairies.  I  little  dreamed  that 
every  word  I  uttered  was  being  taken  down  by  the 
reporter  of  the  Washington  Post.  The  article  found 
its  way  to  Denver,  and  appeared  in  the  Denver  Re- 
publican and  the  Rocky  Mountain  News.  It  was 
copied  in  the  northern  Wyoming  papers.  Of  all 
this  I  was  blissfully  ignorant.  And  now,  after  the 
lapse  of  a  whole  year,  I  was  revisiting  the  scene  of 
my  first  missionary  visit.  I  had  driven  through  a 
blinding  snow-storm  to  Billy  Robinson's  ranch. 
He  was  expecting  me.  He  bade  me  alight  and  go 
into  the  little  sitting-room  which  was  his  bachelor 
headquarters.  I  was  chilled  from  long  exposure  to 
the  cold  and  wind.  Billy  Robinson  was  putting 
my  horses  in  his  stable.  As  I  stood  by  the  stove 
warming  myself  I  could  not  but  admire  and  wonder 
at  the  orderly  neatness  which  characterized  the 
little  room.  Just  behind  the  stove-pipe  was  an 
evergreen  WTcath.  Suspended  from  a  pin  within 
the  circle  was  a  clipping  from  a  newspaper.  Nat- 
urally I  was  interested  in  it.  I  thought  it  probable 
that  it  was  the  obituary  notice  of  Billy  Robinson's 
mother,  who  had  recently  died.  I  drew  nearer. 
Imagine  my  surprise  as  I   read  the  heading,   "A 

24 


MY   FIRST   MISSIONARY   JOURNEY 

Hustling  Bishop  from  the  Wild  West."  There  was 
my  Washington  speech  recounting  my  hearty  re- 
ception by  the  two  Billys  a  year  ago.  As  I  was 
engaged  in  reading  it,  Billy  Robinson  came  in. 

"Ah,  Bishop,"  he  said,  "I  see. you  are  reading  it. 
Why,  you  gave  us  a  great  send-off.  That  speech  of 
yours  has  been  read  from  the  Atlantic  to  the  Pacific, 
As  soon  as  I  saw  it  I  went  out  and  made  that  wreath 
for  mine.  Billy  Bartlett  has  had  his  put  in  a  nobby 
frame,  and  says  he  wouldn't  take  a  thousand  dol- 
lars for  it." 

Of  course  it  was  delightful  to  feel  that  they  were 
pleased,  and  had  not  considered  for  a  moment  that 
I  had  committed  any  breach  of  hospitality. 

My  good  friend  Robinson  is  still  flourishing  in 
his  cattle  business  in  Wyoming,  while  Billy  Bartlett 
has  given  up  his  saloon  and  is  making  an  honest 
living  on  a  ranch  away  out  in  the  State  of  Wash- 
ington. 


CHAPTER   III 

OLD  CHIEF   WASHAKIE 

GENERAL  GRANT,  when  President,  adopted 
the  plan  of  parcelling  out  the  various  Indian 
tribes  and  reservations  among  the  several  religious 
bodies  engaged  in  Indian  work.  Thus  it  happened 
that  to  the  Episcopal  Church,  under  the  leadership 
of  Bishop  Spalding,  of  Colorado,  then  in  charge  of 
Wyoming,  the  Wind  River  Reservation  was  allotted. 
That  was  early  in  the  eighties,  just  previous  to  my 
going  West.  In  this  beautiful  valley  of  the  Wind 
River,  embracing  a  territory  of  ten  thousand  square 
miles,  two  noted  tribes  were  domiciled — the  Sho- 
shones  and  the  Arapahoes.  Their  relations  were 
not  of  the  most  cordial  character,  for  hereditary 
feuds  and  occasional  warlike  sallies  had  from  time 
to  time  disturbed  that  perfect  mutual  concord  so 
important  for  neighbors  to  maintain.  But  the 
government  hoped  that,  as  the  reservation  was  so 
large,  being  over  one  hundred  miles  square,  the  two 
tribes  could  live  far  apart,  and  have  abundant  room 
wherein  to  avoid  collision.  It  must  be  admitted 
that,  for  the  most  part,  serious  tribal  difficulties 
have  been  avoided.     Each  tribe  prides  itself  on  its 

26 


OLD   CHIEF   WASHAKIE 

superiority  to  the  other,  and  it  would  be  deemed  a 
disgrace  for  a  Shoshone  warrior  to  marry  an  Ara- 
pahoe maiden,  and  vice  versa.  The  presence,  how- 
ever, of  a  military  garrison  of  Uncle  Sam's  troops, 
which  has  always  been  maintained  by  the  govern- 
ment, has  had  a  pacifying  effect  on  any  bellicose 
feelings  that  have  from  time  to  time  arisen. 

Since  the  Shoshones  migrated  to  the  Wind  River — 
indeed,  long  before  that  date,  until  a  few  years  ago — 
they  have  had  but  one  chief,  old  Washakie,  as  he 
was  familiarly  known.  The  Indian  word  Wash- 
akie is  said  to  mean  "  Shoots-on-the-fly , "  and  may 
bear  witness  to  the  deadly  and  unerring  aim  for 
which  the  chief  was  famous.  This  reputation, 
coupled  with  his  bravery,  inspired  much  terror  in 
the  minds  of  the  surrounding  tribes.  As  a  ruler 
of  his  people,  Washakie  was  as  autocratic  as  any 
Russian  czar.  In  securing  certain  police  super- 
vision over  the  Indians,  the  government  agent 
soon  discovered  that  it  was  wiser  and,  in  the  long 
run,  more  humane  to  let  Washakie,  with  the  full 
knowledge  of  the  commanding  officer,  exercise  his 
unlimited  monarchy,  rather  than  interfere.  The 
government  learned  that  the  chief  could  be  trusted; 
that  he  kept  his  word  and  meant  to  be  loyal.  The 
fact  was  also  quickly  recognized  that  his  word  was 
law  to  his  tribe.  If  any  insubordination  mani- 
fested itself,  it  was  wiser  to  allow  him  to  suppress  it 
in  his  own  way  than  to  send  the  troops  among 
them.     So  the  agent,  on  hearing  of  anything  that 

27 


MY   PEOPLE   OF   THE    PLAINS 

required  attention,  would  summon  the  old  chief  and 
lay  the  matter  before  him.  No  time  was  lost  in 
effecting  a  remedy.  If  it  meant  that  somebody 
must  die,  it  seemed  best  that  Washakie  should  do 
the  killing  rather  than  that  the  government  should 
incur  the  odium  of  being  the  executor.  On  one  oc- 
casion it  was  reported  to  the  Indian  agent  that  a 
certain  Shoshone  buck  was  in  the  habit  of  beating 
unmercifully  his  squaw.     The  chief  was  summoned. 

"Washakie,"  said  the  agent,  "  I  am  informed  that 
Six  Feathers  is  beating  his  wife.  Do  you  allow 
your  men  to  do  that  sort  of  thing?" 

"Oh,"  said  Washakie,  "sometimes  we  beat  them 
when  they  are  bad," 

"Well,"  said  the  agent,  "I  am  sent  here  by  Uncle 
Sam  to  see  that  such  cruelty  is  stopped.  Will  you 
see  to  this  case?" 

"Yes,"  said  Washakie,  "I  will  speak  to  Six 
Feathers." 

In  a  few  days  Washakie  returned  and  said  to  the 
agent:  "Colonel,  Six  Feathers  no  more  beat  his 
squaw.     Me  fix  him." 

"Why,  what  do  you  mean,  Washakie?"  said  the 
agent. 

"Oh,"  said  Washakie,  "me  kill  him.  Me  find 
him  beating  her.  Me  tell  him  white  man  say  stop. 
Two  sleeps  go  by.  Me  find  him  beating  squaw 
again.  Me  shoot  him,  and  drag  him  out  to  the 
rocks." 

It  is  needless  to  say  that  wife-beating  from  that 

28 


OLD   CHIEF   WASHAKIE 

time  forth  greatly  abated  among  the  Shoshones.  It 
only  cost  one  buck,  and  Washakie,  and  not  the  gov- 
ernment, had  killed  him. 

Tradition  has  it  that  some  years  before  I  knew 
him,  Washakie  himself  had  not  been  free  from 
blame,  in  that  he  had  disposed  of  his  mother-in-law. 
But  he  was  the  chief  and  had  absolute  rights,  and 
the  government  could  not  wisely  interfere  with  his 
domestic  rule.  The  story  is  that  on  one  occasion 
Washakie  went  hunting.  Before  leaving  he  or- 
dered his  squaw  to  move  his  tepee  to  a  higher 
point  of  ground,  for  it  was  getting  damp  in  the 
valley.  He  was  gone  a  week.  When  he  returned 
he  was  cold  and  tired  and  cross.  Approaching  his 
tent  he  saw  with  much  disgust  that  the  wigwam 
stood  just  where  he  had  left  it.  He  was  not  ac- 
customed to  being  disobeyed  even  by  his  squaw. 
Entering  his  home  he  said: 

"Did  I  not  tell  you  to  move  this  tepee?" 

"Yes,"  said  his  squaw,  seeing  fire  in  the  old  man's 
eye. 

"Then  why  did  you  not  do  it?" 

"Because,"  said  she,  "my  mother  would  not  per- 
mit me." 

Then  there  ensued  a  passage-at-arms  between  the 
chief  and  his  mother-in-law,  and  Washakie,  in  a  fit 
of  unbridled  rage,  cruelly  slew  the  offending  old 
woman. 

I  hope  my  readers  will  not  unduly  blame  me  for 
narrating  this  incident,  for  already  it  has  brought 

29 


MY   PEOPLE   OF   THE   PLAINS 

upon  my  innocent  head  at  least  one  serious  repri- 
mand. It  was  in  Buffalo,  New  York.  I  was  the 
guest  of  a  prominent  rector  much  beloved  by  his 
people.  He  had  sent  for  me  that  I  might  inspire 
some  missionary  zeal  in  the  hearts  of  his  flock.  He 
told  me  that  they  were  a  kind  and  thoughtful 
people,  and  towards  him  personally  most  gracious 
and  considerate.  He  said  they  would  give  any 
amount  of  money  for  their  own  city  or  parish,  but 
that  he  had  tried  in  vain  to  get  them  interested  in 
the  cause  of  missions,  foreign  or  domestic.  He  add- 
ed that  about  a  half  dozen  men  of  wealth  sat  in  the 
front  pews  near  the  pulpit,  and  he  hoped  I  might 
induce  them  to  give  liberally  towards  the  cause 
which  I  represented.  So  I  went  at  them.  I  told 
them  of  the  poverty  of  my  scattered  flock  on  the 
big  prairies;  described  how  a  few  hundred  dollars 
would  enable  me  to  send  a  clergyman  here  or  there ; 
explained  that  with  five  hundred  dollars,  aided  by 
the  people  themselves,  I  could  build  a  much-needed 
little  church.  But  my  appeals  did  "not  seem  to 
move  them.  Then  I  told  them  some  pathetic 
stories  of  suffering  and  self-denial  on  the  part  of 
my  missionaries.  Again  I  tried  the  effect  of  some 
facetious  incidents;  but  all  in  vain.  Finally,  be- 
coming desperate,  I  narrated  the  story  of  old 
Washakie  killing  his  mother-in-law,  and  reminded 
my  hearers  that  even  such  a  cruel  and  hard-hearted 
savage  as  he  had  been  had  come  under  the  fascina- 
tion of  the  Gospel  story,  and  was  now  a  good  Chris- 

30 


OLD    CHIEF    WASHAKIE 


OLD   CHIEF   WASHAKIE 

tian.  No  greater  testimony  to  the  power  of  Chris- 
tianity could  be  given,  I  added,  than  that  a  man 
mean  enough  to  kill  his  mother-in-law  had  been 
converted.  Then  the  plates  went  round.  One 
man  tore  out  the  fly-leaf  of  his  prayer-book  and 
wrote,  "Call  on  me  for  fifty  dollars  for  that  old 
chief  that  killed  his  mother-in-law.  My  heart  goes 
out  to ^ him."  Another  wrote  on  a  scrap  of  paper, 
' '  I  have  given  the  Bishop  all  I  had  in  my  pocket, 
but  call  on  me  for  twenty-five  dollars  more  for  that 
old  chief."  About  thirteen  hundred  and  sixty  dol- 
lars was  gathered  in  for  the  Indian  school. 

After  the  service  I  received  in  the  vestry-room  a 
card.  It  was  evidently  from  some  one  in  mourn- 
ing. I  asked  the  rector  who  the  lady  was.  He 
said  she  was  a  devout  and  wealthy  parishioner,  and 
added:  "See  her,  by  all  means."  When  she  stood 
before  me  I  sa^v  there  was  trouble  ahead.  She  told 
me  she  had  been  so  much  interested  in  the  early 
part  of  my  address.  "But,"  she  continued,  "I  was 
deeply  disappointed  that  you  told  that  horrible  in- 
cident about  that  cruel  old  chief  who  killed  his 
mother-in-law."  She  said  she  dearly  loved  her 
mother-in-law,  whom  she  had  recently  lost,  and 
that  it  was  evident  I  had  taken  delight  in  venting 
my  own  personal  feelings  against  mothers-in-law. 
It  was  not  until  I  had  assured  her  that  no  personal 
experience  had  inspired  my  recital,  and  that  a 
strange  and  inscrutable  Providence  had  denied  me 
a  mother-in-law,  that  she  completely  forgave  me, 

.SI 


MY   PEOPLE   OF   THE   PLAINS 

and  produced  a  check  for  two  hundred  and  fifty 
dollars,  which  she  had  brought  to  chiirch  for  me, 
and  we  parted  excellent  friends. 

To  return  to  the  old  chief.  His  hair  had  turned 
white  when  as  yet  he  was  a  young  man.  His  people 
explain  it  as  having  been  caused  by  his  remorse  and 
grief  at  the  loss  of  his  son,  a  brave  young  warrior, 
killed  by  the  Sioux.  The  circumstances  were  as 
follows:  Washakie  and  a  band  of  warriors,  among 
whom  was  this  son  whom  he  idolized,  were  camping 
some  distance  from  the  reservation.  The  lad,  with 
two  companions,  had  gone  with  Washakie's  con- 
sent to  the  hills  for  big  game.  While  they  were 
absent  a  band  of  hostile  Sioux  had  surprised  the 
camp  and  killed  a  number  of  Washakie's  bravest 
and  best  men,  but  they  had  been  driven  off,  and 
many  of  them  slain  by  the  chief's  own  hand.  As 
the  survivors  were  retreating  the  three  young 
hunters  returned.  Washakie,  in  his  rage  and  ex- 
citement, reproached  his  boy  w4th  being  cowardly 
in  running  off  in  the  time  of  battle,  forgetting,  for 
the  moment,  that  he  had  given  him  permission  to 
go.  The  young  man,  stung  under  the  rebuke, 
asked  which  way  the  Sioux  went,  and  seeing  the 
dust  in  the  far  distance,  followed  with  his  two  com- 
panions after  the  retreating  Sioux.  At  last  they 
overtook  them,  and  killed  and  scalped  several  of 
the  number,  but  in  the  fray  Washakie's  brave  boy 
was  slain  and  scalped.  When  his  companions  got 
back  and  told  the  story  of  his  death  it  was  nearly 

32 


OLD   CHIEF   WASHAKIE 

dark,  Washakie,  in  great  agony  of  soul,  withdrew 
into  his  tent  and  threw  himself  on  the  ground, 
groaning,  and  in  unutterable  sorrow  passed  the  long 
night.  He  was  then  in  the  full  vigor  of  manhood; 
but  when  the  day  dawned  it  was  found  that  the 
chief's  hair  was  snow  white,  and  ever  afterwards  he 
could  not  speak  of  his  son  without  tears.  It  was 
thought  that  he  blamed  himself  for  unjustly  taunt- 
ing the  youth  with  cowardice,  and  thus  driving  him 
into  that  act  of  desperation  that  he  might  redeem 
himself  in  his  father's  eyes. 

Washakie  was  without  fear,  and  his  prowess  and 
skill  w^ere  so  well  known  that  hostile  tribes  dreaded 
him  as  invincible.  Numerous  stories  have  been 
handed  down  to  illustrate  how  the  old  chief,  some- 
times against  terrible  odds,  put  to  flight  his  ene- 
mies. He  was  rather  proud  of  his  martial  deeds, 
and  during  the  later  years  of  his  life  was  wont  to 
entertain  himself  and  his  friends  by  placing  on 
record  a  sort  of  autobiographical  sketch  of  his  most 
noted  victories.  The  method  he  adopted  to  ac- 
complish this  was  a  striking  one.  He  could  neither 
read  nor  write,  nor  did  he  ever  learn  to  speak  Eng- 
lish with  any  facility.  But  he  fell  upon  the  plan  of 
representing  upon  canvas  his  battles.  On  the  four 
walls  of  his  log  cabin  he  tacked  up  strips  of  cloth 
three  feet  wide,  and  on  that  white  background  the 
old  man  would  try  his  hand  as  an  artist.  For  paint 
he  used  the  red  and  blue  and  yellow  pebbles  which 
he  picked  up  along  the  banks  of  the  Wind  River. 

.33 


MY   PEOPLE    OF   THE    PLAINS 

With  this  primitive  outfit  he  worked  away  until  all 
around  his  room  were  to  be  witnessed  the  scenes  of 
his  valor.  On  one  occasion  when  I  visited  him  he 
said  to  his  friend  and  pastor,  the  Reverend  John 
Roberts :  ' '  Tell  the  Bishop  I  want  him  to  see  Wash- 
akie killing  the  Sioux."  He  would  then  point  out 
with  evident  glee,  beginning  at  the  first,  all  his 
battles.  In  every  case  it  was  easy  to  recognize 
himself  as  the  chief  figure.  In  one  instance  he  rep- 
resented himself  as  hiding  behind  a  tree,  while  two 
Sioux,  mounted  on  one  horse,  are  approaching. 
Suddenly  he  lets  fly  an  arrow  that  pierces  through 
the  bodies  of  both  Indians,  transfixing  them  in  the 
agony  of  death.  Again, 'he  lies  behind  a  log,  con- 
cealed, as  a  party  of  Sioux  draw  near,  all  unsus- 
pecting. He  fires  upon  them,  and  they  reel  back- 
ward from  their  horses  in  answer  to  his  deadly  aim. 
In  another  picture  he  is  scalping  a  great  savage 
chieftain  whom  he  has  slain  in  mortal  combat.  He 
would  delight  in  recalling  all  the  details  and  bloody 
conflicts  wherein  he  never  failed  to  come  out  tri- 
umphant. His  heart  had  become  tender,  and  he 
had  received  w4th  a  certain  unaffected  and  child- 
like simplicity  the  story  of  the  cross  and  the  great 
love  of  the  Saviour  who  had  died  upon  it  for  him. 
Indeed,  I  have  seen  him  moved  to  tears  as  I  read 
the  Gospel  account  of  the  crucifixion,  interpreted 
to  him  by  Mr.  Roberts.  And  yet,  with  the  old 
savage  instinct  still  surviving  within  in  his  nat- 
ure,  those   reminiscences    of  the  wild  forest   days 

34 


OLD   CHIEF    WASHAKIE 

of  tumult  and  slaughter  gave  him  evident  satis- 
faction. 

The  government  for  some  years  had  made  use  of 
his  services  as  a  scout.  His  wide  knowledge  of  the 
country,  his  fearlessness,  and,  above  all,  his  loyalty 
to  the  flag,  made  him  an  ideal  guide.  He  was  also 
among  the  first  of  the  Indian  leaders  to  recognize 
the  new  era  which  was  about  to  dawn  upon  his 
race,  and  to  adjust  himself  and  his  people  to  the 
new  conditions  which  it  imposed.  He  early  saw 
with  prophetic  vision  that  the  only  salvation  for 
the  red-man,  destined  to  come  into  contact  with  the 
whites,  was  education,  whereby  his  intelligence 
could  be  of  use,  and  labor  as  a  means  of  support 
and  independence.  He  co-operated  with  the  gov- 
ernment in  providing  schools  for  his  people,  and  did 
all  in  his  power  to  encourage  them  to  till  the  soil, 
put  in  crops,  and  learn  to  earn  a  living.  It  was  in 
the  interest  of  a  government  appropriation  for  the 
better  education  of  his  people,  and  that  he  might 
explain  the  need  of  agricultural  implements,  that 
he  once  made  a  pilgrimage  to  Washington. 

The  journey  was  a  revelation  to  the  old  man. 
He  had  no  idea  of  the  magnitude  of  our  country, 
its  enormous  resources,  the  hundreds  of  towns  and 
cities  through  which  he  passed,  and  the  countless 
numbers  of  white  men  in  evidence  ever3rwhere.  It 
overwhelmed  at  first  and  saddened  him.  He  saw 
by  contrast  how  comparatively  small  and  insignifi- 
cant a  factor  in  the  great  swarming  millions  of  peo- 
4  35 


MY   PEOPLE   OF   THE   PLAINS 

pie  the  few  scattered  tribes  of  his  own  race  consti- 
tuted. He  also  reflected  th^t  the  white  man's 
power  and  w^ealth  and  greatness  came  from  in- 
dustry and  agriculture  and  schools.  He  was  philos- 
opher enough  to  learn  the  lesson  that  the  day  of  the 
buffalo  and  the  wigwam  and  nomadic  life  was  for- 
ever past. 

As  a  friend  of  the  church  and  the  school,  and  a 
believer  in  the  gospel  of  work  and  progress,  Gen- 
eral Grant  learned  to  love  and  honor  him.  After 
Washakie  returned  home  the  President  determined 
to  send  him  some  present,  that  the  old  chief  and 
his  people  might  know  how  highly  he  valued  his 
services.  At  first  a  horse  was  thought  of  as  a  suit- 
able token,  but  some  one  suggested  that  Washakie 
was  rich  in  ponies.  At  last  a  saddle  was  decided 
upon,  and  General  Grant  gave  order  that  no  ex- 
pense be  spared  in  making  his  old  friend  the  most 
beautiful  and  appropriate  saddle  possible.  Red  and 
blue  and  yellow,  bright  colors  that  appeal  to  the 
Indian's  fancy,  were  to  be  lavished  upon  it,  and 
every  ornament  and  convenience  that  art  could 
suggest.  The  saddle  was  duly  made  and  sent  to 
the  colonel  commanding  the  military  garrison  for 
presentation.  The  fort  itself  had  been  named 
Washakie  in  honor  of  the  chief.  When  the  present 
arrived  a  letter  accompanied  it  from  the  President 
to  the  colonel,  suggesting  that  the  saddle  be  pre- 
sented publicly,  that  all  the  Indians  might  appre- 
ciate its  significance.     The  day  appointed  was  an 

36 


OLD   CHIEF    WASHAKIE 

ideal  Wyoming  day,  clear  and  bright.  The  Indians 
gathered  in  large  numbers.  By  invitation  Black 
Coal,  the  chief  of  the  Arapahoes,  was  there  with  his 
warriors,  while  the  Shoshones  turned  out  with  great 
enthusiasm.  When  all  was  in  readiness  the  colonel 
asked  an  orderly  to  hold  up  the  saddle  in  full  view 
of  the  assembled  Indians,  among  whom  Washakie 
stood  foremost.  In  a  few  well-chosen  words  the 
commanding  officer  reminded  them  that  the  Great 
Father,  General  Grant,  had  not  forgotten  Wash- 
akie's visit,  nor  had  he  failed  to  appreciate  all  their 
chief  had  done  for  the  nation  and  his  own  people. 
He  knew  that  in  the  early  days  Washakie  had 
saved  the  lives  of  innocent  women  and  children; 
that  he  had  never  been  upon  the  war-path  against 
the  whites ;  that  he  was  a  Christian,  and  a  friend  of 
the  schools;  that  he  believed  in  the  importance  of 
the  red-man's  learning  to  work  in  order  to  become 
independent  and  self-supporting;  and  that  this 
beautiful  saddle  had  been  sent  him  as  a  slight 
testimonial  of  the  great  affection  in  which  Wash- 
akie was  held  by  the  President  of  the  United 
States. 

Meanwhile,  Washakie  stood  profoundly  moved  by 
all  that  had  been  said.  With  his  arms  folded,  his 
lips  quivering,  and  tears  rolling  down  his  cheeks,  he 
stood  speechless.     At  last  the  colonel  said  : 

"Washakie,  will  you  not  send  the  Great  Father 
some  word  of  acknowledgment?" 

The  old  man  hesitated  a  moment,  and  then  re- 

37 


61143 


MY   PEOPLE   OF   THE   PLAINS 

plied:  "Colonel,  I  cannot  speak.  My  heart  is  so 
full  that  my  tongue  will  not  work." 

"Oh,  but,"  said  the  colonel,  "Washakie,  you  must 
try  to  say  something.  Just  a  word,  that  the  Great 
Father  may  know  how  highly  you  value  his  gift." 

Then,  struggling  with  his  emotions,  the  old  man 
said:  "Well,  colonel,  it  is  very  hard  for  an  Indian 
to  say  thank  you  like  a  white  man.  When  you 
do  a  kindness  for  a  white  man  the  white  man 
feels  it  in  his  head,  and  his  tongue  talks.  But 
when  you  do  a  kindness  for  a  red-man,  the  red- 
man  feels  it  in  his  heart.    The  heart  has  no  tongue." 

Surely  this  simple  eloquence  of  his  grateful  friend 
must  have  appealed  to  General  Grant's  noble 
nature,  and  added  to  the  pleasure  he  felt  in  being 
able  to  honor  so  faithful  a  public  servant. 

I  have  already  referred  to  Washakie's  religious 
nature  and  his  interest  in  the  church.  He  was  a 
devoted  friend  to  the  Reverend  John  Roberts,  who 
for  over  twenty-five  years  has  been  ministering  to 
the  Indians  on  that  reservation.  Again  and  again 
has  Mr.  Roberts  assured  me  of  Washakie's  simple 
and  earnest  faith.  Morning  and  night  he  was  wont 
to  pray  to  Him  whom  he  spoke  of  now  as  the  "  Ind- 
ian's friend,"  and  again  as  "the  Son  of  God."  He 
was  baptized  by  Mr.  Roberts  a  number  of  years 
ago  when  he  was  lying  critically  ill.  It  happened 
that  from  the  hour  of  his  baptism  he  began  to 
grow  better  rapidly,  and  was  soon  restored  to  per- 
fect health.     It  was  not  strange  that  to  a  supersti- 

38 


OLD   CHIEF   WASHAKIE 

tious  people  this  remarkable  recovery  should  have 
seemed  entirely  due  to  the  magic  effect  of  the  bap- 
tism. Therefore,  the  Indians  flocked  in  great  num- 
bers to  the  minister,  begging  him  to  baptize  them 
in  order  that  they  also  might  receive  some  of  "the 
same  medicine ' '  that  saved  the  life  of  their  beloved 
chief.  It  was  difficult  to  make  them  understand 
that  the  real  virtue  of  baptism  was  spiritual  and 
not  physical,  and  to  make  use  of  the  occasion  as  a 
wholesome  example  for  them  to  follow. 

The  last  time  I  saw  Washakie  was  at  the  close  of 
the  Spanish-American  War.  I  had  not  been  at  the 
reservation  for  a  whole  year,  and  had  come  back 
from  central  Pennsylvania  to  make  my  final  visita- 
tion. He  greeted  me  as  usual  as  "Big  Chief  of  the 
White  Robes,"  and  begged  Mr.  Roberts  to  tell  me 
of  his  sorrow  at  my  leaving  Wyoming;  that  he  had 
not  been  well,  and  that  he  was  growing  old  and 
feeble,  and  could  no  longer  mount  his  horse  from 
the  ground  without  using  the  stirrup;  but  that  he 
still  prayed  day  by  day  to  the  Saviour.  Then 
pausing,  and  looking  earnestly  at  me,  his  face 
beamed  with  delight  and  satisfaction.  He  said  to 
Mr.  Roberts:  "Tell  the  Bishop  my  heart  is  dancing 
for  joy,  because  Uncle  Sam's  troops  have  whipped 
the  Spanish."     He  was  very  patriotic. 

It  was  not  many  months  after  this  interview  that 
the  brave  old  man  passed  away.  The  same  faithful 
friend  and  clergyman  ministered  to  him  in  his  last 
illness,  and  it  was  gratifying  to  me  to  know  that 

39 


MY   PEOPLE   OF   THE   PLAINS 

the  loyal  old  warrior  remembered  me  in  his  last 
hours.  He  was  no  longer  able  to  speak,  but  he  said 
to  his  minister  in  the  sign-language:  "Tell  the  good 
friend  who  has  gone  East  that  Washakie  has  found 
the  right  trail." 


CHAPTER    IV 

A  MINING-CAMP   IN    IDAHO 

AS  Bishop  of  Wyoming  and  Idaho  my  Sundays 
L  during  the  summer  months  were  usually  passed 
in  the  mining-camps  of  Idaho.  At  Chalice,  Bay 
Horse,  Clayton,  Silver  City,  Idaho  City,  Placerville, 
Murray,  Wallace,  Wardner,  and  many  others,  ser- 
vices were  held  annually,  and  in  some  of  these 
places  churches  were  erected  and  clergymen  main- 
tained. In  those  days  the  visit  of  a  bishop  was  an 
occasion  of  unusual  interest.  The  camps,  as  a  rule, 
were  far  from  a  railroad,  and  the  annual  visit  of  the 
bishop  brought  into  the  life  of  the  place  a  new  in- 
terest which,  for  the  time  being,  was  all  absorbing. 
Especially  was  this  the  case  w^here,  as  often  hap- 
pened, the  bishop  was  the  only  minister  of  any  re- 
ligious body  who  visited  the  settlement  from  year 
to  year.  If  any  of  the  young  people  were  looking 
forward  to  being  married,  the  important  question 
was,  "When  is  the  Bishop  coming.?"  He  could  not 
be  expected  to  make  so  long  a  journey  simply  to 
perform  the  ceremony,  but  it  was  often  possible  to 
so  time  the  event  as  to  have  it  coincide  with  his 
visit,  and  hence  it  was  desirable  that  the  date  of 

41 


MY   PEOPLE   OF   THE    PLAINS 

his  coming  should  be  widely  published  in'  the  local 
papers  some  months  in  advance.  Then  there  were 
the  children  to  be  baptized,  when  a  feast  was  gen- 
erally given  and  the  neighbors  invited  to  be  present. 

I  recall  very  vividly  my  first  visit  to  a  certain 
mining-camp.  It  involved  a  stage-ride  of  seventy- 
five  miles  over  a  rough  mountain-road.  I  reached 
the  place  about  sundown  on  Friday  evening.  As  I 
alighted  from  the  stage-coach  in  front  of  the  hotel 
a  little  man  demurely  presented  himself.  He  ex- 
tended his  hand  and  asked: 

"Is  this  the  Bishop?" 

"Yes,"  I  replied. 

"Well,  Bishop,  I  am  Brother  May,  the  new  min- 
ister. I  arrived  only  yesterday.  I  am  so  glad  to 
see  you,  Bishop;  for  this  is  the  most  God-forsaken 
hole  I  ever  struck." 

"Oh,  well,  do  not  be  discouraged,  my  good 
brother,"  I  answered,  "for,  if  it  is  such  a  place  as 
you  describe,  you  and  I  are  much  needed  here,  and 
we  shall  find  plenty  of  work  to  do.  I  shall  see 
you  a  little  later,  and  we  shall  have  a  good  talk." 

So  I  passed  on  into  the  hotel.  As  I  registered 
my  name  I  noticed  behind  the  counter  all  the  at- 
tractive paraphernalia  of  a  first-class  saloon.  I  was 
dusty  and  tired  and  hungry.  After  having  made 
myself  somewhat  presentable,  I  was  soon  eagerly 
paying  my  respects  to  the  various  dishes  set  before 
me  in  the  dining-room.  Hunger  is,  indeed,  the  best 
sauce,  and  how  I  did  relish  the  food  in  the  mining- 

42 


A   MINING-CAMP   IN    IDAHO 

camps  after  those  stage-rides  over  the  mountains! 
Dinner  over,  I  returned  to  the  hotel  office.  There 
I  found  Brother  May  awaiting  me.  I  offered  him  a 
cigar,  but  he  decHned,  with  a  look  of  some  surprise 
that  a  bishop  should  be  addicted  to  such  a  vice.  I 
proposed  a  stroll  up  the  canon,  for,  after  sitting  on 
the  stage-coach  all  day,  I  felt  the  need  of  a  walk. 
Brother  May  was  very  communicative.  He  pro- 
ceeded to  tell  me  the  story  of  his  life.  He  said  he 
had  been  living  in  San  Francisco;  that  as  a  boy  he 
had  been  apprenticed  to  a  printer,  and  had  learned  to 
set  type,  and  might  have  done  well,  but  had  fallen 
into  bad  company  and  acquired  the  habit  of  drink; 
that  he  had  also  been  addicted  to  gambling ;  that  he 
had  gone  from  bad  to  worse,  until  finally  he  had 
lost  his  position  and  his  friends,  and  was  an  outcast. 
About  that  time  there  was  a  great  revival  in  the 
city.  He  dropped  in  one  night  and  became  in- 
terested. He  was  gradually  led  to  see  the  evil  of 
his  way,  and  determined,  with  God's  help,  to  lead  a 
new  life.  His  conversion  was  so  unmistakably  the 
work  of  the  spirit  of  God  that  he  felt  he  must  con- 
secrate the  remainder  of  his  days  to  the  preaching  of 
the  Gospel.  He  was  over  thirty  years  of  age.  He 
had  no  time  to  lose.  The  authorities  of  his  church 
advised  him  to  go  to  some  theological  seminary  and 
prepare  himself;  but  he  told  them  that  he  knew  the 
story  of  the  cross,  and  the  love  of  God,  and  felt 
eager  to  proclaim  the  message  to  men.  He  asked 
for  no  large  place,  no  important  church.     Indeed, 

43 


MY   PEOPLE   OF  THE   PLAINS 

he  begged  them  to  send  him  to  the  most  neglected 
and  sinful  place  to  be  found.  "And  so,  Bishop," 
he  said,  "they  sent  me  here.  I  came  only  yester- 
day. This  is  my  first  charge,  and  my  church  has 
certainly  sent  me  to  the  most  God-forsaken  hole  it 
could  find." 

I  again  tried  to  reassure  him,  and  suggested  that 
while,  as  he  said,  there  were  many  saloons  in  the 
camp,  it  was  not  strange  that  such  a  situation 
should  obtain,  as  there  was  no  church  and  no  min- 
ister before  he  came.  I  also  expressed  the  hope 
that  he  would  find  the  people  kindly  and  warm- 
hearted and  ready  to  co-operate  with  him  in  his 
efforts  to  do  them  good.  But  he  evidently  con- 
sidered the  prospect  almost  hopeless.  We  arranged 
that  I  should  preach  in  the  dance-hall  on  the  morn- 
ing and  evening  of  the  approaching  Sunday,  and 
that  he  should  hold  forth  at  four  o'clock  in  the 
afternoon,  I  told  him  that  at  my  eleven-o'clock 
service  I  should  take  pleasure  in  announcing  his 
appointment,  and  also  formally  introduce  him  to 
his  new  flock,  and  ask  him  to  say  a  word  to  them. 
This  conversation  took  place  Friday  evening. 

After  enjoying  a  good,  refreshing  night's  sleep,  I 
found  myself  ready  on  Saturday  morning  to  pre- 
pare for  my  Sunday  duties.  First  of  all,  it  was  im- 
portant to  make  sure  of  my  congregation.  I  had 
come  so  far  that  I  did  not  like  the  idea  of  a  mere 
handful  of  women  and  children.  I  longed  to  get 
hold  of  the  men.     The  main  street  seemed  full  of 

44 


A   MINING-CAMP   IN   IDAHO 

miners.  It  was  pay-day,  and  the  place  presented  a 
sort  of  holiday  appearance.  It  occurred  to  me  that 
it  was  a  good  opportunity  to  become  acquainted. 
As  I  walked  down  the  street  I  saw  advancing  tow- 
ards me  an  elegantly  dressed  gentleman  with  large 
diamonds  shining  upon  his  spotless  linen.  There 
were  seven  saloons  in  a  row.  As  I  drew  near  my 
handsome  young  friend,  and  was  about  to  extend 
my  hand,  he  surveyed  me,  concluded  I  was  a  par- 
son, and  might  wish  to  interview  him  on  some  sub- 
ject with  which  he  was  not  familiar,  and  suddenly 
disappeared  into  one  of  the  saloons.  The  experi- 
ence was  a  little  discomfiting,  but  I  summoned  up 
courage  and  determined  to  try  again.  The  next 
man  was  in  his  shirt  -  sleeves,  but  had  an  open, 
frank  countenance.  I  assumed  as  gracious  and 
friendly  an  aspect  as  I  could  command,  and  was 
about  to  greet  him,  when  he,  too,  darted  into  a 
saloon. 

Twice  defeated,  I  went  back  to  the  hotel,  and 
asked  Colonel  Burns,  the  proprietor,  to  let  me 
have  some  large  writing-paper.  In  a  bold  hand  I 
wrote  out  a  few  notices.  I  announced  that,  as 
Bishop  of  Idaho,  I  had  come  to  the  camp,  and 
would  preach  the  next  morning,  Sunday,  at  eleven 
o'clock,  and  in  the  evening  at  eight;  that  both  ser- 
vices would  be  in  the  dance-hall.  All  were  cordially 
invited  to  attend.  Then  the  colonel  let  me  have 
some  tacks.  I  put  up  a  notice  at  the  hotel,  at  the 
post-office,  at  the   large   store,  and   at   the  black- 

45 


MY   PEOPLE    OF   THE    PLAINS 

smith's  shop.  I  then  stood  off  and  looked  to  see  if 
any  one  would  read  my  notices.  But,  alas,  there 
were  already  so  many  notices  ahead  of  mine!  One 
announced  an  exciting  horse-race  Sunday  afternoon, 
a  second  a  mine  to  be  sold,  a  third  a  ranch  to  be 
rented,  etc.  I  soon  discovered  that  my  method  of 
advertising  was  not  likely  to  be  successful.  What 
more  could  I  do? 

As  I  walked  by  the  saloons  I  observed  that  they 
were  full  of  men.  If  only  I  had  not  been  a  bishop, 
I  reflected,  the  problem  would  have  been  easy  of  so- 
lution; for  then  I  could  have  gone  in  the  saloons 
where  the  men  were,  and  delivered  my  invitation 
in  person.  But  how  would  it  look  for  a  bishop 
to  visit  such  places  even  with  the  best  of  motives. 
At  last  I  became  desperate.  I  selected  the  first 
saloon  in  the  row.  I  went  in.  I  introduced  my- 
self to  the  proprietor.  I  told  him  I  was  the  Bishop 
of  Idaho,  and  had  come  in  to  pay  my  respects  to 
him.  He  met  me  very  cordially.  "Why,  Bishop,  I 
am  proud  to  know  you.     What  will  you  have?" 

I  thanked  him  and  told  him  I  should  be  greatly 
indebted  to  him  if  he  would  kindly  introduce  me 
to  those  gentlemen,  pointing  to  a  large  room  back 
of  the  saloon,  where  the  men  were  gathered. 

"Do  you  mean  the  boys  in  the  pool-room?"  he 
asked. 

"Yes,  I  presume  I  do." 

Thereupon  he  came  out  from  behind  the  counter, 
put  his  arm  in  mine  in  a  familiar  way,  as  though 

46 


A   MINING-CAMP   IN    IDAHO 

we  had  been  boon  companions  all  our  lives,  and 
escorted  me  to  the  open  doorway  of  the  pool-room. 

"Boys,"  he  cried  out,  "hold  up  the  game.  Put 
up  the  chips  just  a  minute.  This  is  the  Bishop  right 
among  us,  and  he  wants  to  be  introduced." 

With  a  politeness  and  courtesy  which  would  have 
done  credit  to  any  drawing-room  in  New  York  or 
Boston  or  Philadelphia,  the  men  rose  from  their 
seats  and  welcomed  me.     I  said,  briefly: 

"Excuse  me,  gentlemen,  I  do  not  wish  to  inter- 
fere with  your  pleasure  or  your  amusement.  I  have 
just  come  in  to  pay  my  respects  to  you.  I  am 
the  Bishop,  and  am  going  to  hold  services  in  the 
dance-hall  to-morrow  morning  at  eleven  and  in  the 
evening  at  eight,  and  I  shall  be  very  glad  to  see  you 
there." 

I  remember  that  one  of  them,  evidently  speaking 
in  a  representative  capacity,  thanked  me  for  letting 
them  know,  and  asked  me  again  the  hour,  and  as- 
sured me  they  would  all  be  present.  In  this  way  I 
visited  all  the  seven  saloons  in  the  row.  Every- 
where I  was  treated  with  the  most  respectful  con- 
sideration, and  I  did  not  hear  one  word  that  could 
have  offended  the  most  delicate  conscience.  When 
I  had  completed  the  round  I  felt  that  I  was  reason- 
ably sure  of  a  goodly  number  of  men  as  my  hearers. 

Coming  out  of  one  of  the  saloons  I  suddenly  en- 
countered on  the  street  my  little  friend,  Brother 
May,  the  new  minister.  He  gave  me  a  look  of 
commingled  surprise  and  pity,  and  with  it  a  slight 

47 


MY   PEOPLE   OF   THE    PLAINS 

touch  of  scorn;  but  no  words  were  exchanged  be- 
tween us.  When,  after  my  visitation  of  the  saloons, 
I  returned  to  my  hotel,  I  found  Brother  May  with 
his  face  buried  in  a  newspaper.  He  hardly  deigned 
to  speak  to  me.  I  asked  him  some  question.  He 
hardly  vouchsafed  a  reply.  I  tried  him  again.  At 
last  he  put  down  his  paper,  and,  looking  at  me  with 
a  much  aggrieved  expression,  said : 

"Look  here,  Bishop,  didn't  I  see  you  coming  out 
of  a  saloon?" 

"Yes,  Brother  May,  you  did,  and  if  you  had 
watched  me  you  would  have  seen  me  coming  out 
of  seven." 

"Well,"  he  continued,  "all  I  have  to  say  is  I  am 
sadly  disappointed  in  you.  My  heart  had  gone  out 
to  you,  and  I  was  thanking  God  for  sending  you  to 
this  awful  place,  and  now  to  think  of  a  bishop  go- 
ing into  one  of  those  hells." 

I  tried  to  explain  to  my  reverend  little  brother 
that  I  had  visited  more  saloons  that  day  than 
in  all  of  the  days  of  my  life  before;  that  I  was  not 
a  drinking  man,  and  regretted  the  evils  of  strong 
drink  as  much  as  he  or  any  man  could,  but  that  I 
had  come  to  get  hold  of  those  men ;  that  I  only  vis- 
ited the  camp  one  Sunday  a  year,  while  he  would 
have  an  opportunity  every  week  to  talk  to  them. 
Gradually  it  dawned  upon  him  that  my  act  was, 
after  all,  susceptible  of  a  charitable  interpretation, 
though  he  could  not  justify  it;  nor  could  he  agree 
with  me  in  thinking  that  my  efforts  to  secure  the 

48 


A   MINING-CAMP    IN    IDAHO 

presence  of  the  men  would  prove  sueeessful,  but 
felt  sure  they  would  not  come  out,  no  matter  what 
they  promised — in  short,  that  I  had  hopelessly  im- 
paired my  influence  with  them.  I  could  only  ask 
him  t(3  wait  and  see.  It  was  clearly  evident  that 
Brother  May's  faith  in  me  had  been  subjected  to 
a  severe  test,  and  had  almost  reached  the  breaking 
point.  His  ideals  of  the  episcopal  office  had  re- 
ceived a  terrible  blow. 

That  evening  we  gathered  together  a  few  good 
people,  and  practised  some  familiar  hymns.  A 
young  woman  was  found  who  played  the  little  or- 
gan. The  morrow  came,  a  bright  and  beautiful 
Sunday.  As  the  hour  of  service  approached,  I 
could  see  that  a  great  crowd  was  gathering.  I  had 
already  put  on  my  robes,  and  was  seated  on  the 
platform  of  the  dance-hall,  where  also  the  organ 
and  the  choir  were  placed.  As  the  men  filed  in, 
they  occupied  every  available  space.  I  invited 
some  to  sit  on  the  edge  of  the  high  platform.  Others 
took  advantage  of  the  fact  that  the  window^s  were 
opened,  and  stationed  themselves  there.  A  large 
number  had  to  stand  near  the  doorway;  but  from 
the  beginning  to  the  close  of  the  service  a  hushed 
and  entirely  reverential  demeanor  characterized 
the  assembly.  They  listened  most  patiently  to  all 
I  had  to  say.  There  was  something  peculiarly  sol- 
emnizing and  inspiring  in  those  manly  and  earnest 
faces  as  they  seemed  to  respond  to  the  appeal  I  was 
making. 

49 


MY   PEOPLE   OF   THE    PLAINS 

After  I  had  finished  the  sermon  I  introduced 
Brother  May.  I  told  the  men  that  while  the  church 
I  had  the  honor  to  represent  had  not  yet  seen 
its  way  to  send  them  a  minister,  yet  I  rejoiced 
that  Brother  May,  representing  another  religious 
body,  had  come;  that  he  was  present  in  the  con- 
gregation, and  I  was  glad  to  introduce  him;  that 
he  was  to  preach  that  afternoon  at  four.  Then 
Brother  May  arose.  He  was  extremely  short  of 
stature,  and  had  a  long  black  mustache,  curled  up 
at  the  ends.  He  wore  a  bright-green  cutaway  coat, 
a  blue  waistcoat,  and  red  necktie.  His  boots  had 
high  heels,  tapered  after  the  cow-boy  fashion.  All 
eyes  were  instantly  fastened  upon  him.  A  stillness 
that  was  painful  fell  upon  the  scene.  Brother  May 
stood  near  the  platform.  Instead  of  turning  around 
and  facing  the  people  he  stood  sidewise,  looking  at 
them  over  his  shoulder. 

"Yes,  brethren,  as  the  Bishop  has  said,  I  am 
here,  and  I  am  here  to  stay.  I  have  come  to  preach 
the  Gospel,  and  my  first  sermon  will  be  at  four 
o'clock,  here  in  this  place.  I  w^ant  you  all  to  be  on 
hand,  for  God  knows  you  need  the  Gospel.  Just 
think  of  it,  you  have  seven  saloons  here  in  this 
camp!  Seven  dens  of  hell!  The  fact  is,  this  is  the 
most  God-forsaken  hole  I  ever  struck." 

He  sat  down.  There  was  no  audible  expression 
of  dissent,  but  I  could  feci  that  my  little  brother 
had  forfeited  his  opportunity  to  commend  himself 
to  the  people.     I  was  sorry. 

so 


A   MINING-CAMP    IN    IDAHO 

Another  hymn  was  given  out,  and  I  was  about  to 
dismiss  the  congregation  with  my  blessing  when 
Colonel  Burns,  my  landlord,  stepped  forward,  and 
in  a  low  but  distinct  voice  said: 

"Bishop,  haven't  you  forgot  something?" 

"What  do  you  mean?"  said  I. 

"Why,  the  hat,"  replied  the  colonel. 

"Excuse  me,"  I  answered,  "you  are  right.  I 
had  quite  forgotten  the  collection." 

"I  thought  so,"  said  the  colonel.  "It  won't  do 
to  forget  the  hat,  for  yesterday  was  pay-day,  and 
these  boys  have  a  lot  of  money,  and  if  you  don't 
g'et  it  the  saloons  will,  and  it  is  much  better  for  you 
to  have  it.  Now,  Bishop,  if  you  will  allow  me,  I 
will  run  that  part  of  the  business  myself." 

"Very  good,"  I  said.  "Have  you  any  sugges- 
tions, colonel?" 

"Only  this.  Bishop:  I  wish  you  would  give  us 
about  five  hymns." 

"Five!"  I  exclaimed.  "You  surely  do  not  mean 
five  hymns." 

"Yes,  Bishop,"  he  replied,  "  I  want  plenty  of  time. 
I  do  not  want  to  be  crowded.  The  boys  are  a  little 
slow  on  collections." 

I  stepped  over  to  the  organ,  and  arranged  with 
the  young  woman  who  was  playing  for  us  to  give 
us  five  familiar  hymns.  We  started  in.  The  colo- 
nel presented  the  hat  to  the  man  immediately  on 
my  left.  He  was  sitting  on  the  edge  of  the  plat- 
form. He  brought  out  a  silver  dollar,  called  a 
5  51 


MY   PEOPLE   OF   THE    PLAINS 

"wheel"  in  the  language  of  the  camp.  The  second 
and  third  men  to  whom  the  hat  was  passed  fol- 
lowed the  example  of  the  first,  each  giving  a  dollar; 
but  the  fourth  man  seemed  nervous,  and  hesitated 
while  he  fumbled  in  his  pocket.  After  considerable 
delay  he  brought  out  a  quarter. 

"Oh,  put  that  back.  Come,  now.  Bill,"  said  the 
colonel,  "the  Bishop  is  not  after  small  game  to-day. 
White  chips  don't  go  here.  He  wants  a  wheel  out 
of  you.     Hurry  up." 

"But,  colonel,"  said  the  man,  "I  hain't  got  no 
wheel;  I  am  busted." 

"Oh,  what  you  givin'  us?"  said  the  colonel. 
"Borrow  one  from  Jack.     Jack  will  loan  you  one." 

I  was  not  supposed  to  hear  this  dialogue,  but  the 
colonel  evidently  took  no  pains  to  conceal  what  was 
going  on.  After  some  little  parleying  Jack  loaned 
his  neighbor  a  "wheel,"  and  the  hat  passed  on.  I 
can  remember  the  colonel,  when  he  reached  the 
crowd  standing  at  the  door,  held  out  the  hat  with 
one  hand,  while  with  the  other  he  expostulated  with 
the  men.  The  hymns  were  being  rapidly  used  up, 
and  at  last  the  colonel  returned  to  the  platform 
with  the  hat.  His  face  beamed  with  satisfaction. 
After  the  service  I  asked  him  why  it  took  him  so  long. 

"Oh,"  he  replied,  "Bishop,  you  see,  I  charge  up 
every  feller  accordin'  to  his  pile.  I  know  these 
boys.  Most  on  'em  grub  with  me.  I  made  one 
feller  cough  up  a  ten-dollar  gold-piece,  and  you  will 
find  a  good  many  fives  in  the  hat.     Let's  count  it." 

52 


A   MINING-CAMP    IN    IDAHO 

I  need  not  say  that  the  collection  was  a  generous 
one. 

At  four  o'clock  I  went  to  the  hall  to  help  and 
hear  Brother  May.  As  yet  no  one  had  come.  At 
length  a  few  women  and  children  and  one  old  man 
straggled  in.  Brother  May  preached  on  the  "Rose 
of  Sharon."  It  was  his  maiden  effort.  The  after- 
noon was  very  warm,  and  the  perspiration  poured 
forth  as  my  little  friend  labored  with  the  text.  He 
was  thoroughly  discouraged,  and  could  not  under- 
stand why  the  hall  was  not  full.  I  ventiured  to 
suggest  that  I  feared  he  had  not  been  very  tactful 
in  the  morning  when  he  told  them  that  their  town 
was  the  most  "God-forsaken  hole"  he  had  ever  seen. 

I  learned  afterwards  that  Brother  May  remained 
at  the  camp  only  about  three  weeks.  At  the  end  of 
that  time  a  committee  waited  on  him.  The  spokes- 
man said: 

"Brother  May,  we  understand  you  don't  like  our 
camp." 

"No,"  said  Brother  May,  "it  is  the  worst  I  ever 
struck." 

"Well,  Brother  May,  would  you  like  to  shake  off 
the  dust  of  our  camp  and  leave  us  for  better  dig- 
gin's?" 

"You  bet  I  would,"  was  the  reply. 

"Well,  will  you  leave  if  we  give  you  seventy-five 
dollars?" 

"Sure  I  will." 

"Will  you  leave  by  to-morrow's  stage?" 

53 


MY   PEOPLE   OF   THE   PLAINS 

"I  certainly  will." 

"Then  here's  your  money."  And  Brother  May 
departed  to  parts  unknown. 

To  return  to  our  Sunday's  work.  That  evening 
there  was  another  service,  and  another  great  crowd. 
I  begged  the  men  to  do  something  towards  securing 
a  minister  and  building  a  church.  I  reminded  them 
that  they  had  had  no  one  to  bury  their  dead,  min- 
ister to  their  sick  and  wounded,  baptize  their  chil- 
dren, administer  ttfc  holy  communion,  and  preach 
the  Gospel.  I  told  them  I  would  be  glad  to  co- 
operate with  them  in  any  effort  they  might  make. 
When  Monday  morning  came  a  committee  waited 
on  me  with  a  petition  signed  by  nearly  a  hundred 
miners  begging  me  to  stay  over  and  give  them  an- 
other talk  that  night.  I  consented,  and  the  dance- 
hall  was  again  completely  filled.  Tuesday  morn- 
ing, just  before  I  took  the  stage,  a  committee  came 
to  me  from  a  neighboring  saloon  with  a  subscription- 
paper.     One  of  the  committee  said: 

"Now,  Bishop,  you  have  been  going  for  us  about 
not  having  a  preacher.  Here  is  a  proposition.  If 
you  will  stay  here,  and  rustle  up  this  preachin' 
business,  and  be  our  parson,  we  will  stand  by  you 
to  the  tune  of  two  thousand  dollars  a  year.  Here  it 
is  down  in  black  and  white.     This  is  all  gilt-edge." 

Of  course  I  was  surprised  and  gratified.  I  re- 
plied that,  while  I  felt  much  complimented  by  their 
offer,  it  was  evident  they  did  not  understand  the 
nature  of  my  office;  that  I  was  a  Bishop,  and  had 

54 


A   MINING-CAMP   IN    IDAHO 

to  go  from  place  to  place,  and  could  tarry  nowhere 
long;  that  I  was  on  my  way  to  the  next  camp;  but 
I  added: 

"With  this  liberal  offer  of  two  thousand  dollars  a 
year  I  can  send  you  a  first-class  man." 

They  hesitated  and  seemed  a  little  embarrassed. 
After  some  consultation  one  of  them  said: 

"Bishop,  that  was  not  the  deal.  The  boys  sub- 
scribed this  for  you.  If  you  ^an't  come  we  will 
have  to  make  a  new  deal." 

With  that  they  again  disappeared  in  the  saloon. 
Returning  in  a  few  moments,  the  spokesman  said: 

"Bishop,  here  is  a  new  list.  If  you  will  send  us 
a  first-rate  man,  a  good  talker  and  a  good  mixer, 
we  will  guarantee  him  at  least  one  thousand  dollars 
a  year.  Tell  him,  Bishop,  there  will  be  no  trouble 
about  money.  He  sha'n't  be  allowed  to  suffer.  We 
boys  will  treat  him  white.  Only,  please  remem- 
ber," he  added,  with  a  twinkle  in  his  eye,  "don't 
send  us  no  stick." 

They  had  not  forgotten  Brother  May's  rebuke, 
and  were  not  willing  to  take  any  chances.  The  term 
"good  mixer"  was  new  to  me  then,  but  I  learned 
that  it  meant  the  qualities  of  good-fellowship  and 
sympathy  and  fraternity.  The  successful  man  of 
God  in  the  mining-camp  need  not  lose  his  dignity  or 
self-respect,  but  it  is  of  vital  importance  that  he  be 
a  man  among  men,  and,  above  all,  possess  the 
capacity  of  loving  men,  and  with  the  aid  of  that 
gift  know  how  to  reach  their  hearts. 

55 


CHAPTER  V 

A   VISIT   TO   CLAYTON    GULCH 

AS  it  was  my  custom  when  journeying  through 
L  my  diocese  to  spend  several  days  in  a  mining- 
town,  it  was  often  possible  to  prepare  the  way  for 
my  visitation  to  the  next  camp  through  the  kind 
offices  of  personal  friends  already  made.  Thus  it 
was  that  Mrs.  Deardon,  one  of  our  church-members 
in  Challis,  informed  me  that  her  husband  kept  the 
hotel  and  saloon  in  Clayton,  and  that  she  had  al- 
ready sent  him  word  of  my  intended  visit.  A 
white  horse  was  placed  at  my  disposal  by  a  gentle- 
man who  facetiously  reminded  me  that  my  first 
stopping-place  en  route  would  be  a  mining-camp 
known  as  Bay  Horse. 

It  was  at  this  latter  place  that  I  met  for  the  first 
and  only  time  a  strange,  wild  man  of  the  mountains, 
who  was  spoken  of  as  the  "Bulgarian  monk."  He 
carried  a  gun,  and  was  followed  by  a  dog.  Occa- 
sionally he  would  descend  from  the  hills,  where  he 
led  a  solitary  life  in  the  woods,  to  a  mining-camp, 
and  preach  the  Gospel  to  those  who  were  attracted 
by  his  weird  appearance  and  mysterious  person- 
ality.    He    affected    the    conventional    dress    and 

56 


A   VISIT   TO   CLAYTON   GULCH 

bearing  of  the  apostles,  and  seemed  to  consider  him- 
self a  sort  of  modern  John  the  Baj^tist.  By  the 
more  superstitious  and  impressionable  he  was  re- 
garded with  much  awe  and  wonder;  by  others,  and 
especially  the  young,  he  was  greatly  feared,  and 
mothers  would  conjure  with  his  name  in  keeping 
their  children  in  the  path  of  obedience.  Whence 
he  came  and  w^hither  he  went,  no  one  knew.  His 
movements  were  enshrouded  in  mystery.  I  tried 
to  engage  him  in  conversation  and  elicit  from  him 
some  information  as  to  his  life  and  purpose.  But 
my  efforts  were  unavailing.  As  the  weather  grew 
cold  in  the  autumn  he  would  disappear,  not  to  be 
seen  again  until  the  winter  had  passed  and  the 
snow  had  melted  in  the  mountains.  Then  with  his 
rifle  and  faithful  dog  he  would  once  more  be  seen 
in  the  woods.  Whenever  he  condescended  to  come 
to  a  settlement,  it  was  only  for  a  brief  hour,  to  de- 
liver his  message  or  warning,  and  then  disappear. 
He  repelled  all  attempts  to  draw  him  into  con- 
versation, nor  would  he  accept  hospitality  or  kind- 
ness from  any  one.  He  suddenly  ceased  to  make 
his  annual  visits,  and  no  one  seemed  to  be  able  to 
solve  the  enigma  of  his  life.  On  the  occasion  of 
my  seeing  him  at  Bay  Horse  he  was  just  leaving 
that  place,  and  I  can  vividly  recall  his  curiously 
clad  retreating  figure,  as  he  climbed  the  mountain 
and  disappeared  among  the  pines. 

Reaching  Clayton  about  one  o'clock,  I  was  met 
cordially  by  my  host,  who  bade  me  alight  and  par- 

57 


MY   PEOPLE   OF  THE   PLAINS 

take  of  his  hospitality.  I  was  somewhat  late  for 
dinner,  but  the  dining-room  was  still  open,  and  I 
soon  found  myself  seated  at  the  table.  Scarcely 
had  I  begun  my  dinner  when  a  man  in  the  far 
comer  of  the  room  hailed  me  in  a  loud  voice. 

"Hello,  Bishop,"  said  he.     "Is  that  you?" 

"Yes,"  I  replied. 

"Bishop,  come  over  this  way,  and  eat  with  a 
feller,"  beckoning  to  me. 

By  this  time  I  had  easily  discovered  that  my 
friend  was  far  from  sober.  I  declined  the  invitation 
to  join  him  by  reminding  him  that  I  had  already 
been  served,  and  that  it  would  be  inconvenient  to 
have  my  dishes  carried  over  to  his  table.  I  added 
that  I  would  see  him  after  dinner.  That  sugges- 
tion did  not  at  all  satisfy  him.     He  said: 

"Well,  then,  Bishop,  if  you  won't  eat  with  me, 
I'll  come  over  and  eat  with  you." 

And  over  he  came.  He  was  the  impersonation 
of  good-nature  and  amiability,  though  somewhat 
familiar  for  an  entire  stranger.  When  he  was 
seated  near  me  he  said: 

"Bishop,  are  you  going  to  talk  to  the  boys  here 
to-night?" 

I  told  him  that  was  my  object  in  coming  to  the 
camp. 

"Well,"  he  added,  "I  am  glad,  for  God  knows 
these  fellers  here  need  it.  You  see,  Bishop,  the 
trouble  with  the  boys  here  is  that  they  drink  too 
much."     He  was  obviously  the  last  person  to  com- 

58 


A   VISIT  TO   CLAYTON   GULCH 

plain  ^f  that  tendency  on  the  part  of  his  brethren. 
So  I  ventured  to  say: 

"Well,  my  friend,  I  am  very  sorry  to  hear  that, 
but,  if  you  will  pardon  me,  it  seems  to  me  that  you 
are  suffering  from  that  same  trouble  yourself  just 
now." 

He  saw  my  point,  but  was  ready  for  my  sally, 
and  quickly  rejoined: 

"You  are  right.  Bishop;  but  don't  you  see,  when 
the  Bishop  comes  a  feller  just  has  to  celebrate," 

It  was  easy  to  establish  kindly  relations  with  so 
pleasant  a  nature.     His  next  remark  was: 

*  *  Bishop,  I  heard  you  at  Ketchum,  Are  you  go- 
ing to  give  them  that  same  talk  you  gave  us  fellers 
there?" 

I  told  him  I  had  thought  of  preaching  another 
sermon. 

"Oh,  give  them  that  same  talk,  Bishop;  that  was 
a  hell  of  a  good  talk,  and  will  hit  these  fellers  here 
just  right." 

He  then  wished  to  know  where  I  was  going  to 
preach  and  the  hour.  I  told  him  the  service  would 
be  in  the  dance-hall  over  Barnes's  saloon  at  eight 
o'clock  that  evening.  He  asked  me  if  I  would  al- 
low him  to  help  me  "round-up  the  boys."  I  an- 
swered that  I  thought  his  help  would  not  be  neces- 
sary; that  I  intended  to  visit  the  mill,  and  go  down 
in  the  mines,  and  call  in  at  all  the  stores,  and  invite 
everybody.  But  before  I  escaped  from  him  he  had 
expressed  his  purpose  to  be  on  hand  without  fail. 

59 


MY   PEOPLE   OF  THE   PLAINS 

After  calling  on  the  superintendent,  and  ^tting 
all  the  people  know  about  the  services,  I  returned 
to  the  hotel  and  had  supper.  About  half-past  six 
I  went  over  to  see  the  dance-hall.  It  was  in  a  most 
untidy  condition.  There  had  been  a  dance  the 
night  before,  and  it  had  been  left  in  great  disorder. 
I  found  a  broom,  raised  the  windows,  and  swept 
the  place  thoroughly.  I  then  dusted  the  organ  and 
the  chairs,  and  put  things  in  order  as  best  I  could. 
Finding  an  oil-can,  I  filled  the  lamps  and  cleaned 
the  chimneys,  and  was  quite  pleased  at  the  im- 
proved appearance  of  things.  I  then  sat  down  to 
think  over  my  address  and  prepare  for  the  service. 
It  must  have  been  about  half -past  seven  when  I 
heard  the  sound  of  heavy  footsteps  ascending  the 
outside  stairway.     It  was  my  friend. 

"Bishop,"  he  asked,  "are  you  ready  for  the  boys? 
Shall  I  round  them  up  now?" 

"No,  not  yet,"  I  said,  "wait  about  half  an  hour, 
please." 

"All  right.     I'll  be  back  in  a  half  hour." 

Sure  enough,  a  little  before  eight  he  again  re- 
ported.    "Are  you  ready  now,  Bishop?" 

"Yes,"  I  replied.  "You  may  now  round  them 
up." 

I  still  hoped  that  the  constable  might  come  to  my 
relief  and  lock  up  my  friend  in  "the  cooler"  until 
after  service.  But  no  such  good  -  fortune  awaited 
me.  Presently  I  heard  his  voice  resounding  up  and 
down  the  narrow  street,  or  gulch,  crying  out : 

60 


A   VISIT  TO   CLAYTON   GULCH 

'■'Qh  yes,  boys!  Oh  yes!  Come  this  way. 
The  Bishop  is  ready.  The  mectin'  is  about  to 
begin." 

His  invitation  was  promptly  acted  upon,  for  soon 
the  tramp  of  feet  was  heard  upon  the  stairway,  and 
it  was  not  long  before  every  chair  and  bench  was 
occupied.  Standing-room  was  at  a  premium;  and 
when  I  was  about  to  give  out  the  opening  hymn, 
and  was  congratulating  myself  that  my  friend  had 
been  opportunely  side-tracked,  he,  last  of  all,  made 
his  appearance.  His  condition  uad  not  improved, 
but,  on  the  contrary,  had  grown  worse  during  his 
visits  to  the  several  saloons  where  he  went  to 
"round-up  the  boys."  I  was  not  a  little  annoyed 
by  his  arrival,  and  anticipated  trouble.  There  was 
no  chair  to  offer  him.  Suddenly  it  occurred  to  me 
that  the  only  safe  thing  to  do  was  to  give  him  my 
chair  after  placing  it  on  the  opposite  side  of  the 
little  table  where  I  had  been  sitting.  He  was  limp, 
and  easily  managed.  I  greeted  him  Idndl}^  and, 
taking  him  by  the  shoulders,  seated  him  so  that  he 
would  be  facing  me  and  immediately  under  my 
eye.     As  I  thrust  him  down,  I  said: 

"You  shall  have  the  best  seat  in  the  house,  right 
here  by  me." 

"All  right.  Bishop,"  he  replied,  audibly,  looking 
around  at  the  congregation  with  a  broad  grin. 
"There  ain't  no  flies  on  you." 

I  gave  out  a  hymn,  requesting  all  to  stand.  As 
the  singing  proceeded  I  noticed  that  as  long  as  I 

6i 


MY   PEOPLE   OF  THE   PLAINS 

kept  my  eyes  on  my  friend  he  was  very  respectful, 
but  whenever  I  looked  in  the  other  direction  he 
would  pull  out  a  large  red  handkerchief,  and  osten- 
tatiously wipe  his  eyes  as  if  his  religious  emotions 
were  stirred  to  the  depths.  The  devotional  service 
safely  over,  the  sermon  began.  The  text  was  those 
words  of  St.  Paul  before  Felix:  "As  he  reasoned  of 
righteousness,  temperance,  and  judgment  to  come." 
One  could  hardly  refrain,  with  such  a  text,  from 
dwelling  on  the  great  evils  of  intemperance.  It 
was  evident  that  drunkenness  was  the  prevailing 
vice  of  the  camp,  and  that  it  was  destroying  many 
of  the  young  lives  before  me.  As  long  as  that  was 
my  theme  I  observed  that  my  friend,  just  before 
me,  hung  his  head  in  shame.  He  was  conscience- 
stricken.  He  felt  that  the  preacher  was  personal  in 
his  remarks,  and  had  him  chiefly  in  mind.  I  shall 
never  forget  his  look  of  abject  misery  and  self- 
abasement. 

At  length  I  passed  on  to  another  vice,  that  of 
gambling,  also  very  prevalent,  and  equally  debasing 
in  its  effects.  Now  it  just  happened,  as  I  learned 
afterwards,  that  my  convivial  hearer  was  not  ad- 
dicted to  card-playing  or  gambling  in  any  of  its 
forms.  Whatever  sins  he  might  possess,  he  could 
plead  "not  guilty"  to  this  indictment.  Therefore, 
when  he  realized  that  I  had  passed  on  from  the 
consideration  of  his  particular  weakness,  and  was 
launching  out  to  attack  the  sins  of  others,  he  im- 
mediately braced  up  and  looked  me  straight  in  the 

62 


A   VISIT   TO   CLAYTON   GULCH 

eye,  his  face  radiant  with  interest  and  dehght.  As 
I  proceeded  his  head  nodded  in  evident  approval  of 
my  arguments,  and  at  last  I  could  hear  him  say: 

"That's  right.  Bishop.  Go  for  'em.  Hit  'em 
again." 

He  became  more  and  more  noisy  and  excited. 
Finally  he  clapped  his  hands,  and,  unable  longer  to 
restrain  himself,  he  shouted: 

"Good,  good!  Give  'em  hell,  Bishop.  Give  'em 
hell." 

I  looked  at  him  severely,  and  motioned  to  him 
with  my  hand  deprecatingly,  and  he  subsided. 

It  was  a  memorable  evening.  After  the  closing 
hymn  and  the  benediction  the  men  lingered  long, 
and  many  of  them  came  up  and  shook  my  hand 
gratefully;  but  I  could  see  there  was  something  on 
their  minds  which  they  wished  to  express.  At 
length  one  of  them  found  courage  to  say: 

"Bishop,  things  did  not  look  quite  natural  in 
church  to-night." 

I  asked  what  he  meant. 

"Why,"  he  said,  "you  didn't  look  like  a  bishop, 
and  didn't  have  'em  on  as  you  did  in  Challis." 

"Oh,  you  refer  to  my  vestments,"  I  said,  and  ex- 
plained to  them  that  I  had  left  my  robes  and  prayer- 
books  in  a  gunny-sack  with  Mr.  Deardon  at  his 
saloon.  He  had  placed  the  bag  behind  the  counter; 
but  later  a  ranchman,  living  out  of  town  about  nine 
miles,  had  called  for  his  gunny-sack,  and,  as  they  all 
look  alike,  had  taken  mine  instead  of  his  own;  so 

63 


MY   PEOPLE    OF   THE    PLAINS 

when  the  time  for  service  came  I  was  without  my 
usual  equipment. 

"Oh,  that's  the  w^ay  it  happened,  is  it?  Well, 
you  see,  Bishop,  we  boys  like  to  have  you  dress  up 
for  us.  It  seems  so  much  more  like  church  back 
home." 

The  next  day,  as  I  sat  writing  in  my  room  at  the 
hotel,  some  one  knocked  at  my  door.  My  visitor 
was  a  young  man  from  the  East,  in  whom  I  became 
at  once  greatly  interested.  A  cursory  glance  was 
enough  to  reveal  the  fact  that  he  had  the  bearing 
and  instincts  of  a  gentleman.  Intelligence  and  re- 
finement were  clearly  written  upon  his  countenance. 
I  arose  and  greeted  him,  and  asked  him  to  be  seated. 
He  told  me  his  story.  He  was  a  college  graduate. 
His  mother  and  sisters  were  still  living.  He  had 
formed  the  habit  of  drink  until  he  had  lost  one  posi- 
tion after  another,  and  at  length  determined  to 
break  off  from  all  his  Eastern  connections  and  make 
a  new  start  in  a  country  where  he  was  utterly  un- 
known. He  came  to  the  mountains  of  Idaho.  He 
soon  secured  a  good  place,  and  for  some  months  life 
seemed  to  be  full  of  promise  and  hope;  but  in  an 
evil  hour  he  yielded  to  his  old  enemy,  fell  again, 
and  was  finally  dismissed.  So  he  had  buried  him- 
self in  this  far-distant  mining-camp,  and  was  dig- 
ging ore  as  a  common  laborer  by  the  day.  It  was 
evident  that  the  alcohol  habit  had  a  grip  on  him, 
from  which  escape  would  be  exceedingly  difficult. 
He  said  he  had  been  out  to  the  service  the  evening 

64 


A   VISIT   TO    CLAYTON    GULCH 

before,  and,  as  he  was  on  the  night  shift,  had 
dropped  in  to  have  a  little  talk  with  me.  When  he 
said  good-bye,  he  paused,  and,  gazing  at  me  with  a 
look  of  inexpressible  sadness,  asked  me  if  he  could 
take  the  pledge  in  my  presence.  I  said  by  all 
means,  and  after  we  had  knelt  down  and  asked  that 
he  might  be  kept  strong  and  brave  and  victorious, 
he  signed  a  form  which  I  wrote  out  and  gave  him, 
and  also  a  duplicate  which  I  kept  myself  and  still 
possess.  He  promised  to  write  me  from  time  to 
time,  and  we  exchanged  several  letters.  The  last 
tidings  from  him  were  reassuring,  and,  as  he  was 
called  home  later,  let  us  hope  he  proved  a  comfort 
and  stay  to  those  dependent  upon  him. 

This  case  is  only  one  of  many,  as  may  be  im- 
agined ;  for  the  Far  West,  with  its  Hf e  of  adventure, 
appeals  to  young  men,  among  whom  frequently  are 
those  who  have  enjoyed  the  best  advantages  of 
home  and  education.  In  some  cases,  success  crowns 
their  efforts;  but  more  frequently  they  go  down, 
unable  to  resist  the  terrible  temptations  that  beset 
them. 

On  a  former  visit  I  had  been  preaching  in  a 
saloon.  The  proprietor  had  shown  me  no  small 
kindness,  and  had  sprinkled  sawdust  on  the  floor, 
and  hung  sheets  from  the  ceiling,  thus  hiding  the 
counter  and  the  bottles  behind  it.  The  men  had 
been  respectful  and  quiet,  although  many  had  stood 
throughout  the  service.  At  the  close  the  saloon- 
keeper said: 

65 


MY   PEOPLE   OF   THE   PLAINS 

"Bishop,  would  you  mind  following  me  just  as 
you  are  into  the  kitchen?" 

Still  wearing  my  robes,  I  followed  him.  Before 
entering  he  paused  to  tell  me  that  his  cook  was  a 
young  man  "who  had  seen  better  days,"  that  he 
was  a  member  of  the  Episcopal  church,  and  was 
most  anxious  to  meet  me;  that  he  had  begged  that 
I  come  out  where  he  was  at  work.  Upon  ushering 
me  into  the  kitchen  my  guide  retired,  leaving  me 
alone  with  the  young  man.  I  shall  never  forget 
that  moment.  He  threw  himself  upon  his  knees, 
grasped  my  hand,  and  kissed  it  again  and  again, 
sobbing.  When  he  recovered  himself  sufficiently, 
he  proceeded  to  recite  to  me  some  incidents  of  his 
sad  career.  He  was  the  son  of  a  London  clergy- 
man; was  a  graduate  of  Oxford  University;  had 
fallen  into  dissolute  habits,  and  forged  a  note; 
friends  of  his  father  had  gathered  around  him, 
hushed  up  the  scandal,  paid  the  note,  and  supplied 
him  with  enough  money  to  reach  New  York;  there 
he  had  secured  lucrative  employment,  but  had 
again  fallen  into  evil  ways,  and  so  had  been  going 
down,  down  ever  since,  until,  at  last,  working  his 
way  westward',  he  had  actually  become  the  cook  in 
this  saloon  kitchen.  It  was  evident,  even  then, 
that  he  was  dying  with  consumption.  I  gave  him 
a  prayer-book,  which  he  greatly  appreciated,  made 
him  promise  to  write  me,  cheered  him  up,  and,  with 
my  blessing,  bade  him  good-bye.  He  lived  only  a 
few  weeks  after  that  interview. 

66 


A   VISIT   TO   CLAYTON    GULCH 

As  I  returned  to  the  Wood  River  country  from 
this  trip  I  spent  a  few  days  at  Hailey.  One  after- 
noon a  card  bearing  the  name  "Joe  Oldham"  was 
brought  to  my  room  at  the  hoteh  I  recognized  at 
once  that  my  visitor  was  a  famous  gambler,  of 
whom  I  had  often  heard;  but  despite  his  unen- 
viable profession,  Joe  Oldham  was  highly  respected 
by  the  men  of  Idaho.  He  stood  at  the  head  of  his 
business  for  decency  and  honor  and  integrity. 
Naturally,  however,  I  wondered  why  he  had  called 
to  see  me;  but  I  immediately  descended  to  the 
parlor,  where,  attired  in  a  faultless  suit  ot  broad- 
cloth, Mr,  Oldham  awaited  me.  Tall,  dignified  in 
bearing,  most  gracious  and  polite  in  manner,  he  ex- 
tended his  hand.     As  I  grasped  it  he  said: 

"Bishop,  I  hear  you  are  from  Missouri." 

"Yes,"  I  replied,  "I  am  proud  to  say  that  is  my 
native  State."  I  added  that  I  was  from  Fayette, 
Howard  County. 

His  face  lighted  up  with  a  smile,  and  he  ex- 
claimed: "Howard  County!  Why,  I  have  been 
there.     I  have  relatives  in  old  Howard." 

We  at  once  became  good  friends.  I  soon  learned 
his  mission.  He  simply  wished  me  to  write  a  letter 
to  his  "folks,"  who  lived  in  Independence,  Missouri. 
His  family  consisted  of  a  mother  and  two  sisters. 

"Bishop,"  he  said,  "as  long  as  Joe  Oldham  lives 
they  will  never  know  what  it  is  to  want  for  any- 
thing. If  you  will  write  my  mother,  and  just  tell 
her  that  you  have  met  me,  it  will  make  her  very 

6  67 


MY   PEOPLE    OF   THE    PLAINS 

happy.     Tell  her  that  you  are  the  Bishop  of  Idaho, 
and   that   her   son,    Joe,    called   upon   you.     Now, 
Bishop,  I  expect  you  have  heard  of  me." 
"Yes,"  I  replied,  "often,  Mr.  Oldham." 
"And  you  know  what  my  business  "is?" 
"Well,   yes,   Mr.   Oldham.     I   have  heard  some- 
thing about  it  in  a  general  way." 

"Now,  Bishop,  I  am  going  to  tell  you  all  about 
it.  I  am  a  professional  gambler.  I  run  a  fine  place 
here.  It  is  no  place  for  a  bishop  to  visit,  or  I  would 
like  to  take  you  around  and  show  it  to  you.  But  I 
run  a  clean  house.  Every  man  who  comes  there 
has  a  square  deal.  No  crookedness  there.  Bishop. 
No  drinking  and  carousing  allowed.  It  is  a  place 
for  a  white  man."  Rising  to  depart,  he  said: 
"Now,  Bishop,  if  you  will  write  to  my  mother," 
giving  me  her  address,  "I  shall  be  so  grateful  to 
you.  But,  may  I  ask  of  you  one  great  favor  when 
you  write?  Just  don't  mention  what  my  business 
is.  It  would  simply  break  her  heart  if  she  knew 
how  I  make  my  money.  For,  Bishop,  if  there  ever 
was  a  good  Christian  woman  in  this  world,  it  is  my 
dear  old  mother.  I  only  beg  of  you  not  to  give  me 
away." 

Joe  again  extended  his  hand  and  grasped  mine. 
As  he  withdrew  it  I  found  that  he  had  placed  a 
twenty-dollar  gold-piece  in  my  palm.  "Please  take 
it.  Bishop,"  he  said;  "you  will  find  some  good  use 
for  it.  And  just  let  me  say  that  whenever  you 
want  another  just  like  it,  if  you  will  only  drop  a 

68 


A   VISIT   TO   CLAYTON    GULCH 

line  to  'Joe  Oldham,  Hailey,  Idaho,'  it  will  be  sure 
to  come." 

Invariably,  after  that  first  interview,  when  I 
would  meet  my  Missouri  friend  he  would  slip  into 
my  hand  a  twenty-dollar  gold-piece.  He  was  a 
generous  soul,  warm  hearted,  and  loyal  to  his 
friends.  His  kindness  to  the  widow  and  the  orphan, 
to  the  man  hurt  in  the  mines,  and  to  all  in  trouble, 
made  him  greatly  beloved.  He  had  about  him  a 
certain  title  of  nobility.  He  did  not  claim  to  be  a 
Christian,  but  as  he  never  turned  his  face  away 
from  any  poor  man,  let  us  hope  that  the  face  of  the 
Lord  has  not  been  turned  away  from  him. 


CHAPTER  VI 

IN  AND   OUT   OF   THE    STAGE-COACH 

THE  palmy  days  of  the  stage-coach  in  the 
Rockies  have  now  passed  away.  The  advent 
of  the  railroad  has  left  comparatively  small  dis- 
tances to  be  compassed  by  this  primitive  mode  of 
locomotion.  The  day  when  six  horses  were  the 
regulation  number  gradually  gave  place  to  that  of 
the  foiir-horse  team;  and  now  two  horses  sleepily 
plod  along,  and  carry  the  mail  and  such  occasional 
passengers  as  may  be  compelled  to  travel  in  this 
w^ay.  In  my  early  days  in  Wyoming  and  Idaho 
there  were  some  superb  outfits  on  the  road,  and 
stage- travel  had  its  interesting  and  enjoyable  feat- 
ures. Runaways,  break-downs,  narrow  escapes  of 
various  kinds  often  occurred,  recalling  the  epitaph 
once  found  on  an  old  grave-stone: 

"  Weep,  stranger,  for  a  father  spilled 
From  a  stage-coach,  and  thereby  killed. 
His  name,  Jay  Sykes,  a  maker  of  sassengers, 
Slain  with  three  other  outside  passengers." 

The  long  distances  through  a  country  almost  en- 
tirely uninhabited  exposed  the  passengers  to  hold- 

70 


IN   AND   OUT   OF   THE   STAGE-COACH 

ups  by  the  "road  agents,"  as  the  highway  robbers 
are  called  out  West.  Especially  was  this  the  case 
when  large  sums  of  money  had  to  be  sent  through 
Wells,  Fargo 's  Express  Company,  or  bars  of  gold 
and  silver  had  to  be  carried  from  the  mines.  The 
robbers  were  wonderfully  astute,  and  generally 
managed  to  know  just  when  the  consignments  were 
made.  At  such  times  it  was  the  custom  of  the 
stage  company  to  have  one  or  more  fearless  men, 
well  armed,  ride  with  the  driver.  But  men  who 
embark  in  the  hazardous  calling  of  the  road-agent 
are  very  desperate,  and  take  fearful  risks  when  a 
rich  haul  is  in  sight.  In  these  encounters  it  is 
simply  a  question  as  to  which  party  shall  get  "the 
drop ' '  on  the  other ;  for,  however  brave  a  guard  may 
be,  it  would  be  sheer  foolhardiness  to  refuse  to 
throw  up  his  hands  when  he  found  himself  and 
companions  suddenly  covered  by  three  or  four 
deadly  Winchesters.  Again  and  again,  one  desper- 
ate road -agent  has  been  known  to  rob  a  stage- 
coach full  of  passengers,  and  compel  the  driver  to 
throw  out  the  bullion  and  express-box,  while  those 
within  the  stage,  though  armed,  have  meekly 
looked  on  in  amazement.  I  usually  found  it  con- 
venient, through  the  advice  of  my  friends,  to  make 
my  journeys  when  the  stage  did  not  carry  such 
tempting  booty ;  so  it  was  never  my  fate  to  be  held 
up,  though  frequently  the  stage  which  just  preceded 
or  followed  mine  was  robbed.  Therefore,  I  never 
had  Bishop  Kemper's  experience  in  the  early  days 

71 


MY   PEOPLE   OF  THE   PLAINS 

of  Kansas.  The  Bishop  was  the  victim  of  a  hold-up 
one  night  when  he  was  the  only  passenger.  The 
driver  told  the  road-agent,  who  had  covered  him 
with  a  six-shooter,  that  his  only  passenger  was  a 
bishop. 

"Well,"  said  the  robber,  "wake  up  the  old  man. 
I  want  to  go  through  his  pockets." 

When  the  Bishop  was  aroused  from  a  sound 
slumber,  and  realized  the  situation,  he  gently 
remonstrated  with  the  man  behind  the  gun.  He 
said: 

"Surely  you  would  not  rob  a  poor  Bishop.  I 
have  no  money  worth  your  while,  and  I  am  engaged 
in  the  discharge  of  my  sacred  duties." 

"Did  you  say  you  were  a  Bishop ?"  asked  the  road- 
agent. 

"Yes,  just  a  poor  Bishop." 

"What  church?" 

"The  Episcopal  church." 

"The  hell  you  are!  Why,  that's  the  church  I 
belong  to.     Driver,  you  may  pass  on." 

I  wish  to  speak  of  a  few  stage-drivers  whom  it 
was  my  good-fortune  to  know.  It  can  be  readily 
believed  that  some  of  these  men  were  unique  char- 
acters. They  led  lonely  lives,  and  most  of  them 
had  interesting  histories.  Often  alone  for  days 
and  nights,  exposed  to  all  kinds  of  weather,  and 
taking  many  chances,  they  could,  when  drawn  out, 
relate  some  thrilling  experiences.  Unattractive  as 
such  a  life  would  seem  to  be,  yet  it  possesses  a 

72 


IN   AND   OUT   OF   THE   STAGE-COACH 

strange  fascination  for  men  once  accustomed  to  it, 
and,  even  if  they  abandon  it  for  a  while,  they  are 
unfit  for  any  other  vocation,  and  are  almost  sure  to 
return.  Some  of  the  stage-drivers  whom  I  knew 
had  been  on  the  road  for  a  quarter  of  a  century, 
and  were  among  the  best-known  characters  on  the 
plains. 

I  recall  now  with  peculiar  interest  an  old  driver 
by  the  name  of  Pierce.  He  was  somewhat  com- 
municative after  we  had  learned  to  know  each 
other  on  many  long  rides.  He  once  told  me  that 
he  intended  to  get  married  soon.  One  could  see 
that  he  was  very  happy  at  the  prospect.  Indeed,  I 
could  not  interest  him  long  in  any  other  subject. 
He  said: 

"Bishop,  will  you  tie  us?" 

"Certainly  I  will,  Pierce." 

"It's  going  to  be  in  Rawlins,  and  I'll  let  you 
know  in  good  time.  We  both  want  you,  and  we 
want  the  thing  done  up  brown." 

Time  passed,  and  I  did  not  hear  from  Pierce. 
The  next  year  I  had  to  go  over  his  road  again.  As 
usual.  Pierce  was  on  the  box.  I  had  heard  that 
the  marriage  had  not  taken  place;  but  I  hesitated, 
out  of  respect  for  his  feelings,  to  bring  up  the  sub- 
ject, and  as  we  had  the  whole  day  before  us,  and  I 
was  the  only  passenger,  I  felt  sure  he  would  tell  me 
all  about  it.     When  we  got  well  on  our  way  he  said : 

"Well,  Bishop,  you  never  heard  from  me,  did 
you?" 

73 


MY   PEOPLE   OF   THE    PLAINS 

"No,  Pierce,  and  I  wondered  at  it.  What  hap- 
pened?" 

"I  am  through  with  the  w^omen.  This  is  the 
third  one  I  have  married  off  to  another  feller — the 
third  one  that  has  robbed  me," 

"Why,  Pierce,  what  do  you  mean?" 

"Well,  I  mean  just  what  I  say.  Here's  the  way 
she  treated  me.  You  see  that  there  gal  knowed  I 
had  money,  and  she  knowed  I  thought  a  mighty 
sight  of  her.  So  she  just  worked  me.  She  was 
poor,  and  I  had  bought  a  little  house  for  us  to  live 
in  in  Rawlins,-  and  she  axed  me  wouldn't  I  let  her 
have  the  money  to  buy  the  furniture  and  get  her 
weddin'-clothes.  I  said,  'Certainly,'  and  she  took 
nearly  all  I  had.  I  would  have  trusted  that  gal  to 
the  end  of  the  earth.  Now,  sir,  the  first  thing  I 
knowed  she  was  gone.  Yes,  she  pulled  her  freight 
and  hit  the  trail  with  another  feller.  Of  course,  he 
was  a  low-dow^n  cur,  but  he's  just  what  she  de- 
served. The  la^\yers  say  if  I  can  catch  her  and 
him  I  can  lock  'em  up.  But  what  good  will  that 
there  do?  My  money  is  gone,  and  the  gal's  gone. 
I  tell  you,  it's  mighty  hard  luck.  You  jest  can't 
trust  the  women.  They'll  rob  you  every  time  if 
they  get  the  chance.  As  I  was  sayin',  this  is  the 
third  one  that  has  went  through  with  my  pile. 
They  jest  get  you  to  lovin'  on  'em,  and  they  promise 
to  marry  you,  and  then  you  loan  'em  your  pile,  and 
they  run  off  with  some  honery  cuss,  and  blow  in 
your  money," 

74 


IN    AND    OUT   OF   THE    STAGE-COACH 

I  confess  it  was  difficult  to  say  anything  very 
comforting  to  my  old  friend.  He  was  evidently  an 
easy  prey  to  designing  and  unscrupulous  maidens. 

The  next  year,  as  I  went  up  to  the  Indian  agency 
with  Pierce,  I  found  him  in  a  very  religious  frame 
of  mind.     When  we  were  fairly  started  he  said: 

"Bishop,  I  have  been  wantin'  to  see  you  for  a 
long  time.  I  have  been  wantin'  to  ax  you  some 
questions  about  old  Pluggage.  You  knowed  him,  I 
reckin." 

"Do  you  mean  the  rich  man  who  owned  all  these 
stage-lines?"  I  asked. 

"Yes,  that's  him.  Well,  you  know  that  old  cuss 
has  passed  in  his  checks." 

"Yes,"  I  replied,  "I  saw  the  account  of  his  death 
in  the  papers.  He  died  in  Kansas,  and  left  a  large 
fortune.  What  did  you  wish  to  ask  me  about  him, 
Pierce?" 

"Well,  Bishop,"  he  replied,  "I've  knowed  old 
Pluggage  a  long  time,  and  I'm  sort  o'  curious  about 
him.  ,  I've  been  a-waitin'  till  you  come  along  to  ax 
you  about  him.  I  could  have  axed  some  of  them 
little  bronco  preachers  what  I've  been  haulin',  but 
they  don't  know  nothin'  much,  and  you'se  a  bishop, 
and  knows  your  business  all  right,  I  jest  want  you 
to  locate  old  Pluggage  for  me." 

"Just  what  do  you  mean,  Pierce,  by  asking  me 
to  locate  him?"  I  questioned. 

"Why,  Bishop,  I  want  to  know  where  in  the  hell 
he's  at?" 

75 


•      MY   PEOPLE    OF   THE    PLAINS 

"Oh,  my  dear  fellow,  I  hope  he  is  not  there  at 
all,"  I  replied. 

"Well,  I  didn't  mean  just  that,  but  I  want  you 
to  tell  me  where  old  Pluggage  went  to." 

It  was  a  rather  embarrassing  question,  and  I  vent- 
ured to  say  that  my  acquaintance  with  Mr.  Plug- 
gage  was  very  slight ;  that  I  had  only  met  him  once, 
and  then  thought  him  a  pleasant  gentleman,  and  so 
forth. 

"Maybe  you'd  like  some  facts?"  he  asked.  "I 
kin  give  you  all  the  old  man's  p'ints.  I  kin  get 
him  down  fine." 

"Yes,"  I  replied,  "I  do  not  like  to  pronounce 
judgment  on  any  poor  brother  man.  We  all  have 
our  faults.  On  such  slight  knowledge  of  Mr.  Plug- 
gage's  character  I  certainly  would  not  presume  to 
express  an  opinion." 

"Jest  so.  I  see.  Bishop.  Now,  here's  the  facts. 
I  don't  jest  say  old  Pluggage  would  steLl,  even  if 
he  did  hold  back  our  money  sometimes ;  but  he  was 
so  infernal  stingy  he  would  hold  on  to  a  silver  dollar 
till  the  eagle  on  it  squawked.  Does  that  help  you 
to  locate  him?" 

I  shook  my* head  doubtfully. 

"Then,  Bishop,  nobody  ever  swapped  horses  with 
the  old  man  what  didn't  get  sick  afterwards.  Now, 
can  you  place  him?" 

And  so  Pierce  went  on  reciting  all  the  disparaging 
characteristics  of  his  old  boss  until  it  became  per- 
fectly evident  where  he  wished  me  to  locate  him. 

76 


IN    AND    OUT   OF   THE    STAGE-COACH 

When  I  again  pleaded  my  inability  to  penetrate 
into  the  mysteries  of  the  future  he  seemed  much 
disappointed. 

"But  you  be  a  bishop,  and  locatin'  dead  people  is 
in  your  line  of  business,  ain't  it?" 

I  had  to  admit  that,  in  a  general  way,  the  sub- 
ject was  related  to  my  profession. 

"Don't  the  Good  Book  say,  Bishop,  that  ther's 
jest  two  places  where  they  kin  go?  Now,  which 
place  did  they  send  old  Pluggage?" 

I  could  not  but  half  regret  that  my  conscience 
would  not  allow  me  to  avail  myself,  in  this  par- 
ticular case,  of  the  doctrine  of  a  mild  purgatory; 
for  if  I  could  have  consigned  old  Pluggage  to  a  hot 
atmosphere  for  a  while,  and  then  let  him  out,  it 
would  have  entirely  satisfied  Pierce's  sense  of 
justice.  His  was  not  a  vindictive  nature.  I  am 
not  quite  sure  I  ever  entirely  recovered  the  high 
opinion  the  stage  -  driver  once  entertained  of  my 
theological  erudition. 

Sometimes  the  stage  was  heavily  loaded;  for,  be- 
sides the  passengers,  there  was  often  much  freight 
and  express  matter.  When  this  was  the  case,  and 
the  roads  were  bad  and  the  hills  stftep,  it  was  the 
custom  for  all  the  passengers  to  alight  and  "spell" 
the  horses,  as  it  was  called.  Commercial  travellers, 
or  "drummers,"  in  my  day  made  up  the  largest 
class  of  passengers.  Some  of  these  were  Jews. 
The  Jews  have  many  admirable  qualities,  and  my 
experience  with  them  as  a  race  has  been  far  from 

77 


MY   PEOPLE   OF   THE    PLAINS 

unpleasant.  Indeed,  among  my  best  friends  in  the 
West  I  can  number  many  Hebrews;  but  now  and 
then  in  the  stage-coach  we  would  encounter  one 
who  insisted  on  his  pound  of  flesh.  He  simply 
would  not  get  out  and  walk. 

"I  have  paid  my  fare,"  he  would  say.  "Let  old 
Salisbury  put  on  more  horses.  He  has  no  right  to 
make  us  walk  when  we  have  paid  oiir  good  money 
to  ride.     I  am  going  to  keep  my  seat." 

Perhaps  such  reasoning  was  technically  defensi- 
ble, but  it  was  squarely  in  the  face  of  a  universal 
custom  which  leaned  to  the  side  of  mercy  to  the 
poor  overworked  horses;  and  any  man  who  stoutly 
maintained  the  proposition  was  likely  to  get  him- 
self into  trouble  with  driver  or  passengers,  and 
sometimes  with  both. 

When,  at  one  time,  all  the  other  passengers  had 
gradually  reached  their  respective  destinations,  a 
Jew  and  myself  w^ere  left  alone'.  We  were  riding 
inside,  for  it  had  been  raining,  and  the  roads  were 
very  bad.  When  we  arrived  at  the  summit  of  a 
steep  hill,  up  which  I  had  footed  it,  the  driver 
stopped  to  rest  his  horses  and  allow  me  to  get  in. 
Giving  me  a  significant  wink,  he  beckoned  to  me  to 
take  the  seat  on  the  box  beside  him.  As  the  rain 
had  ceased  I  was  glad  of'  the  opportunity.  We 
were  just  about  to  descend  a  long,  rocky  stretch  of 
road.  Billy  said  to  me :  "  Now,  Bishop,  watch  me 
make  that  cussed  sheeny  holler.  I  am  going  to 
drive  his  old  stove-pipe  over  his  ears."     And  down 

78 


IN    AND   OUT   OF   THE    STAGE-COACH 

he  went  at  a  fearful  pace,  striking  every  rock  and 
"chug-hole"  he  could,  making  it  difficult  even  for 
me  to  keep  my  seat.  In  a  few  moments,  sure 
enough,  the  Jew  began  to  scream.  Of  course,  the 
vehicle  was  making  a  great  noise,  and  Billy  found 
it  convenient  to  hear  nothing  else.  When  we  got 
down  the  hill  the  poor  fellow  was  a  pitiful  sight  to 
behold,  and  his  precious  silk  hat  was  battered  to  a 
shapeless  mass. 

Another  old  stage-driver,  well  known  as  "Hank," 
from  Salt  Lake  City,  was  driven  to  desperation  by 
two  Israelite  passengers.  It  was  a  very  rainy  sea- 
son, and  the  roads  were  indescribable.  The  stage 
had  been  full,  and  every  one  had  been  patient  and 
considerate;  but  the  two  Hebrews  stoically  held 
down  their  seats;  they  had  paid  a  big  price,  and 
were  determined  to  get  the  full  worth  of  their 
money.  At  last,  as  luck  would  have  it,  the  pas- 
sengers were  reduced  in  number  until  the  Jews 
alone  remained.  Darkness  came  on,  and  the  stage 
was  an  hour  or  two  behind  schedule  time,  and  old 
Hank  was  irritated  and  indignant.  At  the  foot  of  a 
hill  was  a  lake  where  it  was  customary  to  water  the 
horses.  Hence,  no  suspicion  was  aroused  when 
Hank  drove  into  the  shallow  water.  He  let  the 
horses  drink,  and  then  drove  in  still  farther  until 
the  water  came  into  the  stage-coach.  He  then  de- 
liberately unhooked  the  traces,  and,  taking  the 
mail-bag,  got  astride  one  of  the  wheel-horses,  and 
rode  ashore,  leaving  the  Jews  swearing  at  him  from 

79 


MY   PEOPLE    OF   THE   PLAINS 

the  half  -  submerged  coach.  "We'll  report  you, 
we'll  have  you  bounced;  you  shall  lose  your  job  all 
right,  and  we're  going  to  sue  old  Salisbury  for 
damages."  And  they  carried  out  their  threats, 
and  Hank  lost  his  place  as  driver,  and  the  company 
had  to  pay  a  good  round  sum  for  damaged  samples 
and  outraged  feelings.  The  news  quickly  reached 
Salt  Lake  and  spread  through  the  city.  Public 
sympathy  was  at  once  enlisted  in  behalf  of  Hank, 
and  a  subscription  started.  A  fine  team  and  ex- 
press-wagon were  presented  to  him,  and  he  was  set 
up  in  the  delivery  business  in  the  Mormon  city. 
Popular  sentiment  brought  him  a  large  patronage, 
and  the  old  stage-driver's  road  to  a  good  living  was 
made  sure  and  easy. 

When  spring  approached  and  the  heavy  snows 
in  the  mountains  began  to  melt,  there  was  more 
or  less  danger  in  fording  the  rivers.  The  Platte 
River,  in  Wyoming,  was  jjarticularly  treacherous  in 
this  respect.  When  I  reached  this  river  at  one 
time  on  my  way  to  Douglas  I  was  riding  a  bronco. 
The  stream  looked  angry  and  swollen,  and  I  was 
debating  in  my  mind  whether  or  not  I  should 
plunge  in  and  swim  my  horse  across.  Just  then  a 
kindly  ranchman  came  upon  the  scene.  He  remon- 
strated with  me;  he  said  my  bronco  was  rather 
small  for  a  man  of  my  size;  that  the  current  was 
swift,  and  that  he  though  it  would  be  unsafe  to  try 
it.     But  I  said: 

"I  must  get  to  Douglas  to-night." 

80 


IN   AND    OUT   OF   THE    STAGE-COACH 

"Well,"  he  replied,  "I  have  a  boat  here,  and  will 
row  you  over,  and  we  will  lead  the  bronco." 

Accordingly,  we  secured  a  rope  which  we  tied 
around  the  bronco's  neck,  placing  the  saddle  and 
bridle  in  the  boat.  We  then  pulled  out,  but  the 
bronco  would  not  budge;  and  all  the  purchase  we 
could  get  on  him  from  the  boat  was  unavailing. 
The  ranchman  suggested  that  we  should  row  down 
the  edge  of  the  river  and  lead  him  until  the  bank 
should  get  so  steep  there  would  be  no  standing 
ground  for  him.  "Then,"  he  added,  "we  can 
yank  him  in."  That  change  of  tactics  was  en- 
tirely successful,  for  we  both  took  hold,  and  by  a 
united  pull,  brought  him  into  the  swift  current. 
My  companion  was  a  good  oarsman,  and  he  struck 
out  bravely,  but  it  was  soon  evident  that  the  bronco 
was  making  straight  for  our  canoe.  The  ranchman 
became  somewhat  excited  lest  the  pony  should  cap- 
size us.  "Beat  him  back;  beat  him  back  with  the 
other  end  of  the  rope.  There  ain't  no  room  in 
here  for  three."  I  landed  several  blows  on  the 
head  of  the  determined  little  beast,  but  they  did 
not  seem  to  discourage  him;  and  it  required  our 
combined  effort  to  pilot  that  frail  little  craft  to  the 
other  shore  without  being  upset. 

Those  of  my  readers  who  have  ever  been  at 
Lewiston,  Idaho,  will  remember  that  just  across 
the  river  Clearwater,  which  flows  by  the  town,  is 
an  enormous  and  most  dangerous  moiintain.  If 
one  can  keep  the  road,  and  has  a  good  team,  it  is 

8i 


MY   PEOPLE   OF   THE    PLAINS 

safe  enough;  but  there  are  several  places,  called 
"hog-backs,"  where  the  road  is  barely  wide  enough 
to  allow  another  team  to  pass;  while  on  either  side 
of  this  narrow  driveway  the  mountain  so  suddenly 
recedes  that  a  misstep  must  precipitate  driver  and 
team  to  imminent  destruction.  With  this  inviting 
prospect  on  the  other  side  of  the  river,  I  found  it 
necessary  one  dark  night  to  cross  the  Clearwater 
and  set  out  for  the  railway  station  some  miles  be- 
yond. The  clergyman  at  Lewiston  had  a  fine  pair 
of  horses,  which,  while  full  of  life,  were  gentle  and 
trustworthy.  On  reaching  the  river,  which  the 
clergyman  had  forded  a  few  days  before,  we  found 
it  unexpectedly  swollen.  A  rope  -  ferry  regularly 
plied  across  the  river,  the  boat  usually  landing 
at  the  far-side  of  a  little  island,  which  teams  could 
reach  by  fording  when  the  stream  was  normal. 
My  companion's  eyesight  was  somewhat  defective 
at  night,  and  he  did  not  observe  that  the  river  had 
risen  so  high  as  to  entirely  submerge  the  island. 
After  hailing  the  boatman,  and  giving  him  the  sig- 
nal to  come  over  for  us,  we  waited  until  we  could 
see  the  light  on  the  boat,  which  was  approaching 
the  spot  where  the  island  was  supposed  to  be.  We 
then  drove  in.  We  had  not  advanced  far  before  I 
heard  frantic  screams  from  the  boatman, 

"Go  back,  for  God's  sake,  go  back,  or  you'll 
drown!" 

Meanwhile,  the  buggy  seemed  to  be  fairly  throb- 
bing under  the  power  of  the  current,  and  our  horses 

82 


IN   AND   OUT   OF   THE   STAGE-COACH 

had  almost  lost  their  footing.  I  begged  my  brother 
to  turn  round,  but  he  would  not.  I  then  snatched 
the  reins  from  him,  and  got  the  horses  round  just 
as  the  boat  came  upon  us.     The  captain  said: 

"Well,  parson,  one  more  step,  and  you  and  the 
Bishop  would  have  been  swept  in.  Were  you  try- 
ing to  drown  him?" 

The  experience  was  one  that  I  did  not  soon  forget. 

It  was  rather  curious  and  interesting  to  those 
who  believe  in  thought  transference,  or  mental 
telepathy,  that  both  my  wife  and  daughter — the 
former  being  at  that  time  in  Missouri,  and  the  lat- 
ter at  school  in  Pennsylvania  —  were  suddenly 
awakened  that  night  out  of  sound  sleep  by  the 
vivid  and  painful  impression  that  I  was  drowning. 
They  agree  that  the  sensation  was  not  in  the  least 
like  an  ordinary  dream. 

After  we  had  been  ferried  safely  over  we  came  to 
the  mountain.  The  wind  was  howling,  and  almost 
blew  the  buggy  off  the  hog -back.  Our  lantern, 
suspended  from  the  dash-board,  had  been  blown  out. 
It  was  pitch  dark.  Suddenly  I  felt  the  buggy- 
sliding  down-hill,  and  the  horses  gradually  follow- 
ing. I  jumped  out,  caught  the  horses  by  their 
bridles,  and,  feeling  my  way  back  to  the  road,  re- 
covered the  trail.  When,  with  great  difficulty,  we 
had  relighted  our  lantern,  we  found  that  we  had 
been  slipping  over  the  edge  of  a  precipice,  and  that 
a  few  more  steps  would  have  hurled  us  down  hun- 
dreds of  feet. 

7  83 


MY   PEOPLE   OF   THE    PLAINS 

These  are  some  of  the  perils,  by-the-way,  which 
added  zest  to  one's  travels,  but  which  it  is  more 
pleasant  to  describe  than  to  experience. 

I  must  be  allowed  here  to  pay  my  grateful  tribute 
to  the  respectful  kindness  and  consideration  always 
shown  me  by  the  stage-drivers.  I  cannot  say  that 
I  never  heard  an  oath;  but  again  and  again,  when 
one  slipped  out,  most  gracious  apologies  have  fol- 
lowed. Bishop  Clarkson's  experience  was  never 
mine,  but  I  can  fully  sympathize  with  his  dilemma. 

It  seems  that  on  one  occasion  the  Bishop  was  due 
to  preach  at  a  certain  town  on  the  prairies  of  Ne- 
braska. It  was  in  the  spring,  and  the  mud  was  up 
to  the  hubs  in  places.  Already  it  was  growing 
dark,  and  the  lights  of  the  village  which  the  Bishop 
was  trying  to  reach  seemed  still  a  long  way  off.  He 
became  a  little  nervous  lest  he  should  be  late  for  his 
appointment.  Just  then  they  encountered  a  mud- 
hole,  and  the  stage-coach  stuck  fast.  The  driver 
laid  on  the  lash;  but  in  vain;  the  horses  would  not 
move.  The  Bishop  was  on  the  box  with  the  driver, 
who  was  getting  desperate.  Unable  to  stand  it 
longer,  he  turned  to  the  Bishop,  and  said: 

"  Do  you  see  those  wheelers  looking  back  at  me  ?" 

"Yes,  Harry.     What  does  that  mean?" 

"  Bishop,  you  know  I  have  always  tried  to  treat 
you  right,  and  I  respect  your  cloth.  But  do  you 
say  you  want  to  preach  in  that  there  town  to-night  ?" 

"Of  course  I  do,  Harry.  Why  don't  you  whip 
your  horses?" 

84 


IN    AND   OUT   OF    THE    STACiE-COACII 

"Whip  'em,  Bishop!  'Ain't  I  been  a-whippin'  of 
'em  my  level  best?  Do  you  say  that  you  must 
preach  there  to-night?" 

"Of  course  I  must." 

"  Well,  Bishop,  I  ask  it  just  once.  You  see  these 
horses  are  used  to  my  style  of  talkin'  to  'em.  I 
know  it's  a  bad  habit,  and  I  know  it's  wrong,  but 
will  you  please  give  me  a  dispensation  just  this  one 
time?  If  you  will,  I'll  get  you  there  or  bust. 
What  do  you  say,  Bishop?" 

The  Bishop  felt  the  case  to  be  extreme. 

"Well,  Harry,  I  suppose  I'll  have  to.  Fire  away 
this  one  time." 

Harry  ripped  out  an  oath,  and  the  horses  got 
down  on  their  haunches,  cleared  the  mud-hole,  and 
landed  the  Bishop  in  town  just  in  time  to  keep  his 
appointment. 


CHAPTER  VII 

THE    CCEUR    D'ALENE    COUNTRY 

A  "BIG  FIND"  of  gold  or  silver  soon  becomes 
known  in  a  mining  country.  When  the  fact  is 
well  established  men  of  all  sorts  and  conditions  be- 
gin to  pour  in.  Thither  go  the  prospectors — always 
a  large  contingent — men  who  have  for  years  been 
seeking  a  fortune,  generally  unsuccessful,  but  occa- 
sionally cheered  and  urged  on  by  a  great  strike 
made  by  some  fortunate  comrade.  These  pros- 
pectors are  often  "grub-staked" — that  is,  supplied 
with  provisions  and  an  outfit  by  some  backer  with 
money  who,  in  the  event  of  good-luck,  is  to  share 
equally  the  profits.  Thither  goes  the  tin-horn  gam- 
bler, who  prospers  with  the  prosperity  of  the  rest, 
often  amassing  a  large  pile,  only  to  lose  it  again  by 
an  adverse  turn  of  the  wheel.  Thither  always  goes 
in  ample  time  and  in  sufficient  numbers  the  saloon- 
keeper with  his  dance-hall,  assured  that  if  the  camp 
produces  anything  he  will  get  the  lion's  share.  Later, 
if  the  yield  is  large  and  promising,  the  merchants 
follow;  then  the  printing-press.  Last  of  all,  the 
church  enters  the  field,  to  be  of  what  service  it  can  in 
ministering  for  good  to  the  motley  and  eager  throng. 

86 


THE   CCEUR    D'ALENE   COUNTRY 

The  average  lifetime  of  a  mining-camp  is  brief; 
and  rarely  do  we  find  that  nature  has  made  such 
large  deposits  of  the  precious  metal  in  any  one 
region  as  in  the  famous  Coeur  d'Alene  territory  in 
the  Panhandle  of  Idaho.  Early  in  the  history  of 
that  state  valuable  placer  mines  and  a  few  rich 
pockets  of  the  yellow  metal  had  been  found  in  and 
around  Murray,  not  far  from  the  Coeur  d'Alene 
country.  But  it  was  not  until  about  1886  and 
1887  that  the  silver  -  producing,  low-grade  ores, 
which  have  yielded  so  enormously,  were  discovered. 
These  are  still  profitably  worked,  and  new  mines 
are  being  opened  in  that  wonderful  country  from 
time  to  time.  When  I  went  to  Idaho  the  whole  sec- 
tion was  a  dense,  uninhabited  forest ;  a  few  months 
later  a  narrow-gauge  railroad  connecting  with  the 
boat  on  the  Coeur  d'Alene  Lake  pierced  through  the 
woods  and  reached  Wardener  and  then  Wallace. 
Thousands  of  people  were  at  once  attracted  by  the 
reports  of  fabulous  wealth  actually  in  sight. 

At  the  time  of  my  first  visit  to  the  Coeur  d'Alene, 
Wallace  was  my  objective  point,  and  the  first  en- 
gine had  but  recently  reached  the  camp.  I  had 
managed  to  send  word  of  my  coming  to  some  young 
men  who  had  preceded  me  by  a  few  weeks.  Al- 
ready a  rude  printing-press  had  been  set  up,  and, 
as  I  stepped  from  the  train,  I  was  handed  a  large 
green  circular  which  had  been  widely  distributed, 
and  was  posted  up  on  stumps  and  logs  and  shacks 
in  every  direction.     It  read  as  follows: 

87 


MY   PEOPLE   OF   THE    PLAINS 

"The  Bishop  is  coming.  Let  all  turn  out  and 
hear  the  Bishop.  Services  in  George  and  Human's 
Hall  to-morrow,  Sunday,  at  ii  a.m.  and  8  p.m. 
Please  leave  your  guns  with  the  usher." 

The  young  men  who  got  up  this  unique  notice 
wished  to  have  the  service  in  entire  harmony  with 
the  environment. 

As  I  was  escorted  from  the  station  to  my  hotel  I 
was  impressed  by  a  scene  of  throbbing  activity. 
The  camp  was  crowded  with  men,  and  the  sound  of 
saw  and  hammer  filled  the  air.  Conspicuous  among 
the  rude  buildings  and  tents  which  made  up  the 
town  there  were,  by  actual  count,  sixty  saloons.  It 
was  a  confused  and  stirring  spectacle.  I  found  to 
my  surprise  that  two  of  my  own  cousins  from  Mis- 
souri, bright  and  enterprising  fellows,  were  the 
owners  of  the  local  paper ;  hence  I  was  at  once  made 
to  feel  at  home. 

On  the  next  morning,  Sunday,  I  was  curious  to 
see  whether  or  not  the  green  circular  had  been  effec- 
tive in  drawing  a  congregation.  Its  charm  had 
been  potent.  The  hall  was  packed,  and  the  con- 
gregation, as  was  usual  in  new  mining-camps,  was 
made  up  almost  entirely  of  men.  No  church  of  any 
kind  had  been  built;  and,  indeed,  so  new  was  the 
place  that  my  visit  was  the  first  made  by  any 
clergyman.  I  had  already,  on  the  evening  of  my 
arrival,  secured  from  Captain  Wallace,  after  whom 
the  place  was  named,  and  who  had  some  sort  of  a 

88 


THE    CCEUR    D'ALENE    COUNTRY 

title  to  the  town  site,  the  promise  of  an  eligible  lot. 
The  next  step  necessary  was  to  raise  money  for 
building  a  chureh.  After  the  morning  service,  and 
before  dismissing  the  congregation,  I  dwelt  upon 
the  importance  of  having  a  place  of  worship,  and 
asked  their  generous  co-operation  in  securing  the 
funds.  By  way  of  encouragement  I  informed  them 
that  a  kind  layman  in  Philadelphia,  Mr.  Lemuel 
Coffm,  had  given  me  a  check  for  five  hundred  dollars, 
on  condition  that  I  could  get  a  thousand  dollars 
more  in  some  town,  and  thus  erect  a  fifteen-hundred- 
dollar  church,  and  I  expressed  the  hope  that  Wal- 
lace might  obtain  the  gift.  In  closing  I  gave  notice 
that  at  the  evening  service  subscriptions  would  be 
received,  and  that  I  felt  sure  all  woiild  help  in  rais- 
ing the  thousand  dollars. 

That  Sunday  afternoon  I  took  a  walk  through 
the  camp.  On  every  side  men  were  hard  at  work 
as  on  any-week  day.  The  stores  and  banks,  not  to 
mention  the  saloons,  were  all  open.  As  I  passed 
one  bank  I  recognized  in  the  cashier  a  gentleman 
whom  I  had  met  before.  He  invited  me  in  and 
asked  about  the  services  and  my  plans.  I  briefly 
outlined  to  him  my  purpose  of  raising  a  thousand 
dollars  that  evening  at  the  service.  He  generously 
offered  to  give  one  hundred  dollars  himself.  An- 
otTier  member  of  the  firm  pledged  seventy-five  dol- 
lars; a  third,  fifty  dollars;  they  all  said  they  would 
be  present,  and  when  called  upon  would  name  the 
amounts  respectively  promised.     A  large  and  eager 

89 


MY   PEOPLE   OF  THE   PLAINS 

congregation  of  men  again  gathered  at  the  hall  at 
eight  o'clock.  After  the  service  and  sermon  I  re- 
newed my  plea  for  a  church,  and  mentioned  the 
five-himdred-dollar  check  in  my  pocket,  ready  to 
add  to  the  one  thousand  dollars,  if  only  we  could 
secure  that  sum  then  and  there.  I  asked  a  gen- 
tleman to  come  forward  and  keep  a  record  of 
the  pledges  as  they  were  made.  I  called  first  for 
one-hundred-dollar  subscriptions;  only  one  person 
responded.  Then  for  seventy  -  five  -  dollar  pledges; 
again  but  one  answer.  Then  for  fifty-dollar  offers; 
several  of  these  were  made.  When  the  twenty- 
five-dollar  pledges  were  called  for,  the  responses 
were  so  numerous  that  I  began  to  feel  the  whole 
amoimt  would  be  obtained.  Finally,  when  I  asked 
for  the  ten-dollar  gifts  an  old  and  poorly  dressed 
man  sitting  near  the  front  cried  out  in  a  shrill  voice : 

"Pit  me  down  for  ten  dollars,  Mr.  Bishop." 

I  hesitated,  fearing  he  could  not  afford  so  much; 
but  the  gentleman  who  was  keeping  the  record  re- 
assured me,  saying: 

"He's  all  right.  That's  old  Huckleberry  Jim. 
He's  rich,  and  got  money  in  the  bank.  He  could 
afford  to  give  fifty  dollars.  He's  getting  eight  dol- 
lars a  gallon  for  his  huckleberries  at  Spokane." 

The  congregation  was  dismissed  with  the  cheering 
news  that  the  money  was  all  in  sight. 

The  next  morning  I  had  to  leave.  As  I  was  on 
my  way  to  the  station  two  men  met  me,  and  one  of 
them  said : 


THE   CCEUR   D'ALENE   COUNTRY 

"  Bishop,  come  along  with  us.  The  train  will  not 
be  here  for  an  hour,  and  we  want  to  use  you.  We 
might  as  well  raise  some  more  money  for  that  church, 
for  we  will  surely  need  it  before  we  get  through,  and 
we  can  do  better  while  you  are  with  us." 

We  held  up  before  the  open  door  of  a  corner 
saloon. 

"Come  this  w^ay,  Steve,"  said  one  of  my  com- 
panions, addressing  the  proprietor.  As  he  reluc- 
tantly came  forward  my  friend  went  on:  "Steve, 
this  is  the  Bishop,  and  he  is  building  a  church,  and 
we  want  twenty-five  dollars  out  of  you." 

"All  right,"  said  Steve.  "Will  you  take  it  now, 
or  do  you  just  want  my  name?" 

"Well,  if  it's  all  the  same  to  you,  we'll  take  the 
cash." 

Having  paid  up  himself,  Steve  at  once  became  an 
enthusiastic  friend  of  the  new  church  movement, 
and  proceeded  to  lead  out  to  us,  one  by  one,  such 
of  his  customers  as  he  thought  might  help.  We 
then  went  on  to  the  neighboring  saloons,  and  be- 
tween three  and  four  hundred  dollars  were  added  to 
the  fund.  In  a  short  time  the  church  was  built, 
and  is  to-day  a  self-supporting  parish,  and  has  been 
the  means  of  much  wholesome  and  uplifting  influ- 
ence in  that  neighborhood. 

At  Wardner,  Mullan,  and  Murray  churches  were 
also  erected.  It  was  during  my  first  visit  to  Mur- 
ray that  a  memorable  service  was  held.     A  heated 

91 


MY   PEOPLE    OF   THE    PLAINS 

political  campaign  was  in  full  blast.  Party  lines 
were  closely  drawn,  and  the  local  papers  were  in- 
dulging in  bitter  personalities.  '  The  large  hall  in 
w^hich  the  service  was  held  was  constructed  of 
boards  wdth  no  plaster  to  deaden  the  sound.  Im- 
mediately adjoining  it,  and  separated  only  by  the 
thin  board  partition,  full  of  holes  caused  by  knotty 
lumber,  was  the  saloon.  The  clanking  of  glasses 
and  bottles,  and  also  the  conversation  of  the  men, 
could  be  distinctly  heard.  During  the  time  of  ser- 
vice, therefore,  the  kind-hearted  saloon-keeper  was 
good  enough  to  close  shop,  and  even  to  invite  his 
customers  to  attend  church  and  "hear  the  Bishop 
talk."  They  came;  and,  naturally  enough,  many 
of  the  fellows  fresh  from  their  drinks  were  hardly 
able  to  realize  just  w^here  they  were.  But  there 
was  one  local  Democratic  leader  particularly  far 
gone.  It  just  happened  that  the  subject  of  my 
sermon  was  the  parable  of  the  Pharisee  and  the 
Publican.  In  developing  the  theme  I  proceeded  to 
condemn  the  pride  and  self-complacency  of  the 
Pharisee,  and,  in  correspondingly  strong  language, 
to  praise  the  Publican  for  his  humility  and  self- 
abasement.  From  the  start,  my  Democratic  friend 
got  the  impression  that  I  was  delivering  a  political 
speech,  and  every  time  I  used  the  word  "Publican" 
he  understood  me  to  say  "Republican."  He  tried 
to  bear  it  patiently  at  first,  and  only  expressed  him- 
self in  low  mutterings,  almost  inaudible.  But  as  I 
went  on  to  hold  up  the  Publican  as  an  example  for 

92 


THE   CCEUR   D'ALENE   COUNTRY 

all  men  to  follow  his  self-control  gave  way.  He 
came  back  at  me  with  great  earnestness  and  took 
issue  with  my  statements,  until  it  became  necessary, 
despite  his  violent  protests,  for  his  friends  to  carry 
him  out  bodily.  The  service  over,  the  lights  were 
once  more  turned  on  in  the  saloon,  and,  as  I  was 
afterwards  told,  the  Democratic  champion  had  his 
opportunity. 

"Did  you  ever  hear  such  stuff  as  that  Bishop  got 
off?"  he  said.  "He  just  boosted  the  Republican 
party  all  through  his  speech,  and  didn't  have  a 
damned  word  to  say  for  the  Democrats." 

The  story  soon  spread  throughout  the  county, 
and  the  local  Republican  paper  did  not  fail  to  make 
all  possible  capital  out  of  it.     The  editor  said: 

"  Here  is  a  fair  specimen  of  what  the  Democratic 
party  stands  for.  Some  of  them  are  condemning 
the  Bishop  for  preaching  against  them.  As  a  mat- 
ter of  fact  he  made  no  reference  to  politics,  but 
simply  preached  the  Gospel.  Will  any  man  of  in- 
telligence vote  for  a  party  that  does  not  know  the 
difference  between  a  Publican  and  a  Republican? 
The  incident  of  last  night,"  continued  the  editor, 
"suggests  the  sad  experience  of  a  Democratic  news- 
paper man  in  Iowa.  That  State  was  so  hopelessly 
Republican  that  he  found  it  impossible  to  make  a 
living  by  publishing  his  paper  there;  so  he  packed 
up  his  printing-press,  and  left  the  town,  and  estab- 
lished himself  in  Missouri.     He  selected  a  growing 

93 


MY   PEOPLE    OF   THE    PLAINS 

and  prosperous  county-seat;  but,  after  spending  a 
year  in  Missouri,  he  became  discouraged,  and  re- 
turned to  his  Iowa  home.  His  friends  were  sur- 
prised to  see  him  back,  and  one  of  them  said : 

"'Why,  Scott,  what  are  you  doing  here?  I 
thought  you  were  running  a  Democratic  paper  in 
Missouri.' 

'"I  have  been,'  was  the  reply. 

'"Why  did  you  leave?' 

"'Because  I  wanted  to,'  he  answered. 

"'Why,  that  is  strange,  Scott!  Was  it  a  good 
town?' 

"'Yes,  a  cracking  good  town.' 

"'A  good  farming  country?' 

'"The  best  in  the  world.' 

"'Any  Democrats  there?' 

'"Yes,  nothing  but  Democrats.  The  woods  are 
full  of  them.' 

"'Well,  then,  why  on  earth  did  you  leave?'  " 

"'To  tell  you  the  truth,'  said  Scott,  'the  darned 
fools  can't  read.'" 

My  readers  may  find  themselves  wondering 
whether  there  is  much  opportunity  in  the  Western 
mining -camp  for  religion  and  the  church.  One 
must  frankly  admit  that  the  life  of  the  average 
miner  is  a  peculiarly  hard  one.  From  the  necessity 
of  the  case  the  mines  must  run  on  Sunday  as  well 
as  every  other  day ;  otherwise  the  water  would  flow 
in  and  destroy  in  one  day  the  labor  of  weeks.     The 

94 


THE   CCEUR   D'ALENE   COUNTRY 

pumps  must  be  kept  going.  When  Sunday  comes, 
therefore,  it  finds  one-half  of  the  men  hard  at  work, 
and  the  other  half  must  needs  rest  from  their  labors. 
When  they  have  an  evening  off,  if  it  happens  to  be 
Sunday,  many  of  them  will  go  to  church,  and,  when 
there,  no  one  is  more  appreciative  and  attentive 
than  the  miner.  The  minister  finds  abundant  op- 
portunity to  exercise  his  gifts  of  service  in  dealing 
with  him  individually;  in  learning  to  know  when 
he  is  accessible,  and  where;  in  seeing  that  he  is  pro- 
vided with  a  bright,  attractive  reading-room,  where 
the  papers  and  magazines  can  be  read,  and  where  a 
game  of  pool,  of  billiards,  or  cards,  or  checkers  can 
be  innocently  indulged  in;  in  helping  to  provide  a 
simple  hospital  where  he  can  be  cared  for  when  sick 
or  wounded;  in  short,  for  the  gospel  of  service  and 
fraternity  there  is  not  only  always  an  abundant  op- 
portunity, but  often  a  most  pathetic  need.  If  the 
minister  of  Christ  is  to  be  of  any  real  help  to  men  in 
such  environment,  he  must  first  of  all  be  a  manly 
man  with  a  genius  for  service  born  of  loving  sym- 
pathy. This  w411  give  him  much  patience,  and  fill 
his  heart  with  hope,  so  that  he  will  believe  in  every 
man's  capacity  to  receive  good.  It  is  the  personal 
rather  than  the  oflficial  touch  that  wins.  Nay,  is  it 
not  true  always  and  everywhere  that,  back  of  the 
sermon,  and  the  ecclesiastical  setting,  there  must  be 
the  consciousness  of  a  living  man,  who  really  cares 
lor -his  brother  man  and  has  a  message  which  he 
fully  believes  in  and  yearns  to  deliver?    The  men 

95 


MY   PEOPLE   OF   THE   PLAINS 

of  the  mining-camps  and  ranch  towns  in  Wyoming 
and  Idaho  used  to  implore  me  to  send  them  "  a  good 
mixer."  As  they  interpreted  that  expression  it  was 
not  far  afield  from  a  right  diagnosis  of  what  is  need- 
ed everywhere.  To  do  men  good  they  must  be  met 
on  their  own  groimd.  It  is  not  a  loss  of  dignity, 
but  the  truest  dignity,  to  identify  one's  self  with  the 
sorrows,  anxieties,  and  even  with  the  joys  of  those 
whom  it  is  an  honor  to  serve  just  because  they  are 
men ;  to  be  as  the  great  apostle  said  he  tried  to  be — 
"all  things  to  all  men" — that  he  might  win  some. 

Among  the  interesting  experiences  of  my  life  in 
the  Far  West  was  the  meeting  from  time  to  time, 
in  some  remote  and  isolated  corner  of  that  vast  hid- 
ing-place, a  striking  personality  —  some  man  or 
woman  of  distinction  and  attainments,  whom  ad- 
verse circumstances  or  tragic  fate  had  driven  to 
seek  shelter  and  retirement  in  a  strange  land.  In 
Wardner,  when  the  camp  was  new,  I  met  a  man 
who  impressed  me  as  a  person  of  unusual  culture. 
He  had  a  striking  face,  and  his  grace  of  manner  and 
a  certain  elegance  and  dignity  of  bearing  convinced 
me  that  he  was  no  ordinary  individual.  He  after- 
wards took  me  somewhat  into  his  confidence,  and 
told  me  a  part  of  his  history.  Were  I  to  mention 
his  name,  those  of  my  readers  familiar  with  the 
American  stage  forty  years  ago  would  recognize 
him  as  a  noted  actor  of  that  day.  He  had  enjoyed 
the  friendship  and  intimacy  of  Booth,  Forrest,  Bar- 
rett, and  other  well-known  artists.    There  was  some 

96 


THE    CCEUR    D'ALENE   COUNTRY 

tragedy  connected  with  his  life  which  explained  his 
presence  in  that  remote  mining  -  camp.  Though 
very  poor,  and  compelled,  with  his  invalid  wife,  to 
live  in  a  little  log  cabin  and  practice  the  most  rigid 
economy,  he  was  highly  esteemed.  He  eked  out  a 
precarious  living  by  writing  for  the  newspapers ;  for 
he  had  good  literary  taste,  and  was  the  master  of  a 
polished  and  graceful  style.  It  was  always  a  priv- 
ilege to  meet  the  old  man.  He  was  a  lover  of  good 
books,  a  student  and  interpreter  of  Shakespeare,  and 
possessed  brilliant  conversational  gifts.  If  he  could 
secure  an  appreciative  hearer  he  w^ould  pour  forth 
by  the  hour  a  stream  of  reminiscences,  abounding 
in  the  most  delightful  incidents  of  his  long  and 
eventful  career  as  a  public  man.  He  became  deeply 
interested  in  the  church,  and  admired  enthusias- 
tically the  dignity  and  beauty  of  the  Book  of  Com- 
mon Prayer.  In  his  early  days,  simply  as  an  act  of 
friendship,  he  had  given  several  prominent  clergy- 
men lessons  in  elocution,  with  special  reference  to 
the  proper  reading  of  the  service,  which  he  could 
render  with  an  impressiveness  and  appreciation 
rarely  found.  It  was  to  the  credit  of  the  people  of 
that  mining  -  camp,  though  thoroughly  typical  of 
Western  discrimination  and  appreciation,  that  they 
ministered  with  la,vish  and  unremitting  kindness  to 
the  needs  of  this  aged  couple,  and  did  not  suffer 
them  to  lack  any  of  the  simple  comforts  of  life  in 
their  declining  years.  I  have  been  told  that  the 
funeral  of  my  venerable  friend  bore  silent  but  elo- 

97 


MY   PEOPLE   OF   THE   PLAINS 

quent  witness  to  the  profound  reverence  and  affec- 
tionate regard  in  which  he  was  held  by  the  entire 
community. 

Before  leaving  the  Coeur  d'Alene  region,  I  wish 
to  pay  grateful  tribute  to  the  excellent  work  ac- 
complished among  the  Coeur  d'Alene  Indians  by 
the  French  Jesuit  missionaries.  The  name  Coeur 
d'Alene  (heart  of  an  owl),  is  said  to  have  been  first 
used  by  the  Indians  as  a  term  of  reproach  against 
the  hard-hearted  and  sharp  practices  of  the  French 
traders  in  their  dealings  with  them.  Whether  this 
tradition  is  founded  on  fact  or  not,  it  may  be  con- 
fidently affirmed  that  the  French  missionaries  more 
than  atoned  for  any  wrong  done  these  simple  red- 
men  by  their  more  avaricious  countrymen.  In  all 
the  annals  of  missionary  heroism  there  are  few 
chapters  which  evince  more  devotion  and  unselfish 
love  for  men  than  those  which  recount  the  fasci- 
nating story  of  the  conversion  of  the  Coeur  d'Alene 
tribe.  A  few  young  Jesuit  priests  of  excellent  birth 
and  fine  culture,  who  might  have  won  fame  and 
honor  at  home,  left  their  native  France,  crossed  the 
ocean,  penetrated  the  thick  forests  of  the  North- 
west, and  literally  gave  their  lives  for  these  red-men. 
As  one  by  one  they  fell  in  the  discharge  of  their 
sacred  duties  their  places  were  filled  by  priests  of 
the  same  splendid  spirit  and  type.  The  mission 
was  founded  more  than  sixty  years  ago.  As  a  re- 
sult we  have  to-day  a  tribe  of  Indians  peaceable 
and  peace-loving,  deeply  religious,  self-supporting, 

98 


THE    CCEUR    D'ALENE     COUNTRY 

fond  of  their  homes  and  children,  and  living  the  life 
of  civilized  man.  A  visit  to  the  old  mission  church 
near  Lake  St.  Joseph  will  repay  the  Western  trav- 
eller. The  building  is  still  used  for  worship,  though 
constructed  with  wooden  pins  instead  of  nails,  and 
in  the  most  primitive  fashion.  As  one  meets,  as  I 
have  had  the  privilege  of  meeting,  the  venerable 
priest  who  has  spent  his  entire  ministry  in  this  re- 
mote and  obscure  mission,  one  instinctively  feels 
that  any  of  the  world's  emoluments  are  poor  and 
cheap  as  compared  with  the  essential  dignity  and 
moral  beauty  of  such  a  life  and  such  a  service. 

8 


CHAPTER  VIII 

THE   TENDERFOOT  AND   OLD    PETE 

DURING  my  winter  visits  to  the  East  for  the 
purpose  of  raising  funds  for  Wyoming  and 
Idaho  I  frequently  met  young  men  who  sought  my 
advice  about  the  hunting-grounds  of  the  West.  I 
was  often  able  to  give  them  suggestions  which  re- 
sulted in  enjoyable  holidays  and  fine  sport.  Twenty 
years  ago  big  game  was  abundant  in  certain  parts 
of  my  missionary  field.  Elk,  deer  and  antelope 
were  to  be  found  in  large  "bunches"  in  both  terri- 
tories; and  in  the  Kootenai  country  of  northern 
Idaho  there  were  still  fine  specimens  of  mountain- 
sheep  and  caribou,  which  even  then  were  rapidly 
disappearing.  It  sometimes  happened  that  my 
young  Eastern  friends  were  entirely  without  experi- 
ence of  the  West  and  its  ways,  and  so  became  easy 
prey  to  the  fun-loving  cow-puncher  of  the  plains,  or 
to  the  designing  mountain -guide,  who,  after  "fleec- 
ing" him  of  his  money  and  duping  him  in  many 
ways,  would  expose  him  to  the  ridicule  of  the 
scornful  Westerner  as  a  "  tenderfoot. "  In  a  country 
where  wit  was  the  only  passport  to  success,  it  was 
deemed  entirely  justifiable  thus  to  take  advantage 

lOO 


THE   TENDERFOOT   AND    OLD    PETE 

of  the  verdancy  and  gullibility  of  the  new-comer. 
Such  lessons  were  considered  a  test  of  true  man- 
hood. While  sometimes  humiliating,  they  were 
usually  wholesome,  and,  if  taken  in  the  proper 
spirit,  became  an  initiation  into  that  atmosphere  of 
comradeship  and  good-will  which  was  well  worth 
the  bitter  experience.  The  critical  question  was, 
"  Is  this  man  made  of  the  stuff  that  will  stand  the 
racket?"  If  so,  his  future  was  assured.  If  not,  he 
might  as  well  "pull  up  his  stakes"  and  leave  the 
country,  for  there  was  no  place  for  one  of  his  caliber. 

A  certain  young  man  of  my  acquaintance,  from 
the  city  of  New  York,  had  been  reading  stories  of 
the  elk  and  caribou  of  northern  Idaho.  He  had 
some  friends  wlio  had  been  very  successful,  and  not 
a  little  boastful,  in  killing  big  game  in  the  Adiron- 
dacks,  where  his  uncle  had  a  summer  camp.  He 
possessed  abundant  means,  and  his  ambition  was  to 
throw  in  the  shade  the  achievements  of  these  fort- 
unate Nimrods  of  his  acquaintance.  His  knowledge 
of  hunting  was  entirely  theoretical,  having  been  ac- 
quired from  books  alone.  He  conceived  the  idea  of 
trying  his  luck  in  the  Rockies. 

Arriving  in  Spokane,  he  met  at  the  hotel  some 
young  men  who  found  him  delightful  company  be- 
cause of  his  generous  purse  and  his  eagerness  to 
gulp  down  all  the  stories,  however  fabulous,  of  the 
wonderful  Kootenai  country,  where  the  caribou 
abounded.  First  of  all,  they  suggested  that  he 
must  supply  himself  with  a  proper  outfit.     A  buck- 

lOI 


MY   PEOPLE   OF   THE   PLAINS 

skin  hunting-suit,  a  strong  army-saddle,  a  pair  of 
six-shooters,  a  good  Winchester — these  things  were 
of  prime  importance.  The  new  friends  went  with 
him  and  helped  him  to  select  these  articles,  and  had 
them  expressed  to  Kootenai.  They  then  told  him 
of  a  celebrated  guide  whose  services  would  be  in- 
dispensable. His  name  was  Tom  Canfield.  They 
said  he  came  high,  but  he  always  found  the  game. 
He  was  accordingly  written  to  and  engaged,  to  be 
ready  to  start  on  a  certain  day.  The  guide  was 
authorized  to  hire  for  the  New-Yorker  the  best 
horse  available,  irrespective  of  cost.  It  seemed  to 
my  young  friend  that  his  plans  were  simply  perfect. 
He  felt  that  never  in  his  life  had  he  met  such  kind 
and  accommodating  people.  He  yearned  to  give 
them  some  substantial  expression  of  his  apprecia- 
tion; and  so,  the  night  before  he  left  Spokane,  he 
invited  to  a  champagne  dinner  at  his  hotel  some 
eight  or  ten  of  his  newly  made  Western  comrades. 
It  was  a  memorable  feast,  and  the  young  Easterner 
was  all  but  overwhelmed  with  the  good  wishes  for 
his  success  in  the  woods,  of  which  they  assured  him 
there  could  not  be  the  least  doubt.  The  next  day 
they  accompanied  him  to  the  train,  and  gave  him 
three  rousing  cheers  as  the  Northern  Pacific  pulled 
out  of  the  station. 

Arriving  at  Kootenai  he  found  Tom,  the  famous 
guide,  all  ready  to  receive  him.  They  were  to  start 
the  following  day.  A  sure-footed  hunting-horse, 
well  trained,  had  been  secured  for  the  New-Yorker; 

I02 


THE   TENDERFOOT   AND   OLD    PETE 

and  to  carry  their  necessary  impedimenta  a  good, 
faithful  pack-horse,  accustomed  to  follow  anywhere 
at  a  respectful  distance,  had  been  obtained.  As 
for  Tom's  own  mount,  my  young  friend  was  sur- 
prised and  somewhat  disappointed  to  find  that  it 
was  not  a  horse  at  all  but  a  donkey,  called  Pete. 
But  the  guide  assured  him  that  he  always  rode 
Pete,  and  that  money  could  not  buy  him;  that  the 
little  beast  knew  the  woods,  and  could  take  them 
infallibly  to  the  game.  They  spent  a  busy  after- 
noon and  evening  in  getting  all  things  ready  for  an 
early  start.  The  New-Yorker  made  quite  a  sensa- 
tion at  the  Kootenai  hotel,  and  the  natives  gazed 
with  amazement  upon  his  style  and  the  glory  of  his 
outfit;  for  Tom  had  heralded  his  coming,  and  the 
whole  settlement  knew  that  the  young  Easterner 
had  "heaps"  of  money,  and  that  the  guide  was  get- 
ting a  "soft  snap." 

The  morning  dawned,  and,  after  an  early  break- 
fast, they  set  out.  The  country  was  newly  opened 
up,  and  the  thick  woods  grew  close  to  the  little 
hamlet  which  had  been  cut  out  of  almost  solid 
timber.  The  hunters  struck  a  trail  at  once  down  a 
gradual  incline,  at  the  foot  of  which  was  a  shallow 
river  to  be  forded.  When  they  got  well  into  the 
woods  the  guide  said: 

"  I  reckin,  mister,  you  hain't  never  been  in  these 
diggin's  before,  have  you?" 

"No,  but  I  have  been  in  the  Adirondacks." 

"Oh  yes,  I've  heered  of  'em.     That's  where  the 

103 


MY   PEOPLE    OF   THE    PLAINS 

tenderfeet  hunt.  But  I  reckin  you  'ain't  never  been 
on  a  reel  hunt  before.  Now  I  jest  want  to  say  to 
you  that  you  talk  too  loud.  You  see,  it's  this  here 
way.  These  here  wild  critturs  is  mighty  skittish, 
and  when  you  git  'em  right  skeered-like  once  they 
keep  out  of  sight." 

Tom  was  talking  almost  in  a  whisper,  and  with 
intense  earnestness.  The  New-Yorker  was  duly  im- 
pressed for  the  moment. 

"Now  you  was  a-axin'  me  awhile  ago,"  said 
Tom,  "when  we  would  be  apt  to  run  up  agin  any 
game.  Almost  any  time.  They  feed  right  up  close 
to  that  there  hotel.  You  see  this  is  a  brand-new 
clearin',  and  the  game  'ain't  hardly  found  out  that 
we're  here." 

"But,"  said  the  young  man  in  a  loud  and  ex- 
cited voice,  "do  you  think  we  will  see  a  caribou?" 

"For  God's  sake,  man,  don't  talk  so  loud.  You'll 
drive  'em  all  away.  Sure,  we'll  see  a  caribou. 
Didn't  I  tell  you  that  this  here  jack,  old  Pete,  will 
find  'em  ?  Now  lemme  tell  you  'bout  old  Pete.  He 
looks  honery,  and  he's  a  jackass,  and  he  'ain't  got 
no  style,  but  I  tell  you  he  gits  there  all  the  same. 
It  'pears  like  he  kin  smell  game  a  mile  off,  and  he's 
got  a  eye  on  him  like  a  eagle.  It  ain't  no  use  for 
you  nor  me  to  bother  our  heads  about  findin'  the 
game.  Old  Pete  '11  do  that  for  us,  and  he'll  do  it  a 
h  ap  sight  better  nor  you  nor  me.  Then,  you  see, 
I've  got  him  trained.  When  he  spots  a  deer  he 
draps   right   down   on   his   knees   jest   once.     That 

T04 


THE   TENDERFOOT   AND   OLD   PETE 

means  a  buck.  When  he  draps  twice,  that  means  a 
bull  elk.  He  don't  take  no  notice  of  does  nor  cows. 
When  he  draps  three  times,  then  look  out  as  sure 
as  hell  for  a  caribou." 

This  was  very  startling  to  the  new  hunter,  and  he 
looked  at  the  guide  incredulously. 

"Look  here,  Tom.  What  are  you  trying  to  give 
me?" 

"Sh!"  motioning  with  his  hand,  "not  so  loud,  for 
God's  sake.  Take  it  cool,  stranger.  I'm  givin'  you 
straight  goods  'bout  old  Pete.  He's  built  jest  that 
way,  and  if  you'll  only  be  still,  you'll  see  him  per- 
form by-and-by." 

Presently  they  came  to  the  river.  While  the 
stream  was  shallow,  yet  the  water  in  the  deepest 
place  came  up  to  the  horse's  belly.  The  New- 
Yorker  noticed  with  some  amusement  and  interest 
that,  instead  of  simply  drawing  up  his  feet  out  of 
reach  of  the  w^ater,  the  guide  extended  his  legs, 
without  bending  them,  directly  in  front  and  almost 
horizontally;  but  he  explained  this  to  himself  by 
reflecting  that  old  Pete  was  short  of  stature,  and 
such  unusual  posture  became,  therefore,  necessary. 
Crossing  the  river,  Tom  motioned  to  my  friend,  and 
said,  almost  in  a  whisper: 

"  Now,  no  more  talkin',  stranger.  The  deer  will 
be  comin'  down  here  to  git  a  drink,  and  old  Pete  is 
likely  to  spot  one  and  drap  on  his  knees  any  time." 

Bearing  a  little  to  the  right,  they  followed  a  trail 
through    some    beautiful    pine    timber.     Glancing 

105 


MY   PEOPLE   OF  THE   PLAINS 

back,  the  Easterner  saw  the  faithful  pack-horse  fol- 
lowing at  a  respectful  distance.  Suddenly  Tom 
stopped  and  said: 

"  Now,  when  you  see  old  Pete  drap  on  his  knees, 
don't  say  nothin',  but  git  off  your  horse,  and  throw 
the  bridle-rein  and  follow  close  behind  me." 

Stealthily  they  proceeded  through  the  silent 
forest.  Without  w^arning  old  Pete  dropped  on  his 
knees.  Dismounting,  Tom  beckoned  to  the  young 
man  to  come  nearer. 

"Great  Scott!"  exclaimed  the  tenderfoot,  in  an 
awed  voice,  "  I  must  have  that  donkey.  He 
dropped  just  once,  didn't  he?  Does  that  mean  a 
buck?" 

"You  bet  your  life  it  does." 

"Where  is  he?"  said  the  tenderfoot. 

"  Now  you  got  me.  Old  Pete  can't  tell  where  he 
is.  He  ain't  no  Bible  jackass.  He  can't  talk.  But 
you  bet  he  sees  him  all  right.  It's  up  to  us  to  lo- 
cate him.  Hush  talkin'  now,  and  follow  me." 
Peering  through  the  timber,  he  whispered:  "There 
he  is.  See  him?  Gosh,  he's  a  dandy!  Jest  come 
here  and  look  down  my  rifle,  and  I'll  show  him  to 
you." 

"Oh  yes,  I  see  him,"  said  the  young  man.  "I 
see  him,  and  he's  a  beauty." 

"Now,"  whispered  Tom,  "jest  crawl  up  behind 
this  here  big  pine,  and  take  rest  and  let  him  have  it 
good.  Aim  a  little  low,  right  behind  the  shoulder. 
He's  standin'  jest  right  for  you." 

io6 


THE   TENDERFOOT  AND   OLD   PETE 

Bang!  went  the  rifle  of  the  tenderfoot,  and  the 
deer  made  a  graceful  bound,  evidently  unscathed, 
and  disappeared. 

"Too  bad!  You  shot  clean  over  him.  Well, 
never  mind.  There's  more  where  he  come  from. 
But  hain't  you  got  the  buck  ague  ?  You're  kind  o' 
tremblin'.     You  have  to  take  it  mighty  cool." 

The  tenderfoot  was  greatly  excited,  and,  despite 
his  guide's  protest,  would  talk  too  loud. 

"  But,  Tom,  what  will  you  take  for  the  donkey  ? 
I  must  have  him  for  the  Adirondacks." 

"Oh,  he  ain't  for  sale.  He's  my  fortune.  Be 
quiet,  my  friend.     These  woods  is  full  of  deer." 

Mounting  again,  they  followed  up  the  trail.  In 
his  tumultuous  excitement  and  eagerness  for  the 
fray  it  seemed  a  long  time  to  the  tenderfoot  before 
old  Pete  dropped.  But  just  as  the  trail  curved  to 
the  left  Pete  again  came  down. 

"I  see  him,"  said  Tom.  "No  wonder  old  Pete 
drapped.  Come  this  way.  Any  fool  could  hit  that 
buck." 

Sure  enough,  there  on  a  little  knoll  not  fifty  yards 
away,  stood  a  fine  deer,  his  antlers  proudly  aloft. 
The  tenderfoot  took  deliberate  aim,  and  the  buck 
dropped.  The  young  hunter's  pent-up  emotions 
could  no  longer  be  suppressed.  He  yelled,  threw 
his  cow-boy  hat  in  the  air,  and  jumped  up  and 
down,  crying: 

"Hurrah  for  old  Pete!  Hurrah  for  old  Pete!" 
He  rushed  to  the  donkey,  patted  him  on  the  head, 

107 


MY   PEOPLE   OF  THE   PLAINS 

laughed  and  yelled  again.  "Tom,  what  will  you 
take  for  him?  I've  got  the  money,  and  just  must 
have  him." 

"Say,  I  reckin  you  never  shot  much  big  game, 
did  you  ?  They  ain't  no  more  deer  in  these  diggin's 
now.  You've  jest  raised  hell  with  'em,  stranger. 
We  might  as  well  cross  the  divide  and  take  a  bite  of 
grub  down  by  the  North  Fork  where  there's  water. 
We'll  let  our  critturs  feed  and  rest,  and  then  we'll 
cross  the  river  for  elk  and  caribou." 

Before  leaving  the  buck,  Tom  had  cut  off  the  fine 
head,  jerked  the  quarters  and  htmg  them  up,  and 
tied  to  his  saddle  a  piece  of  venison  for  supper. 

"We'll  get  these  when  we  come  back  to-morrow," 
he  said. 

"Do  you  think  these  horns  will  be  safe  here, 
Tom?     I  wouldn't  lose  them  for  my  right  hand." 

"Oh  yes,  I  know  these  here  woods,  every  inch  o' 
'em.     I  could  come  to  this  here  tree  blindfold." 

After  the  lunch  by  the  river-bank,  which  both  en- 
joyed, the  tenderfoot  handed  Tom  a  fine  cigar  as  he 
saw  him  about  to  light  his  old  pipe.  The  three 
"critturs"  were  still  feeding,  for  the  grass  in  the 
river-bottom  was  long  and  tender.  The  saddles  and 
pack  had  been  removed,  and  men  and  beasts  were 
refreshed.  It  must  have  been  about  two  o'clock 
before  they  started  to  cross  the  North  Fork.  Over 
their  noonday  snack  the  tenderfoot  had  plied  Tom 
with  endless  questions,  and  again  tried  to  buy  old 
Pete   "for  the  Adirondacks."     But  the  guide  had 

io8 


THE   TENDERFOOT  AND   OLD   PETE 

steadily  refused  to  entertain  any  proposition  of  the 
kind.  lie  had,  however,  told  the  tenderfoot  that,  in 
all  likelihood,  there  would  be  no  more  game  that  day. 

"You  see,  it's  this  way:  the  caribou  in  this  here 
mountain  feed  higher  up,  and  we  won't  strike  'em 
till  to-morrow  morning.  Still,  you  can't  never  be 
sure  'bout  these  here  woods.  Old  Pete  may  drap 
any  time,  so  don't  talk,  and  make  jest  as  little 
racket  as  you  kin  help.  I  reckin  it's  goin'  to  be  a 
bull  elk  next  time.  They  ain't  no  caribou  this  low 
down.  Mum's  the  word  now,  stranger.  These  is 
fine  woods,  and  old  Pete  is  a  feelin'  scrumptious." 

The  trail  was  growing  more  and  more  indistinct, 
and  frequently  the  hunters  encountered  fallen  tim- 
ber, and  had  to  pick  their  way  with  care. 

"Partner,"  said  Tom,  "this  is  a  great  elk  country 
we're  comin'  to  now.  If  I  ain't  mightily  fooled, 
from  the  way  old  Pete  is  actin'  he  is  gettin'  ready 
for  a  bull.  Don't  do  no  loud  talkin'.  The  wind  is 
bio  win'  our  way,  and  that's  in  our  favor,  for  it  beats 
all  how  them  elk  can  sniff  a  human." 

Not  a  word  passed  between  the  men  for  a  period 
that  seemed  almost  interminable  to  the  untrained 
and  effusive  tenderfoot.  Emerging  from  the  dense 
forest,  they  suddenly  came  into  a  sort  of  green 
meadow-like  opening,  where  the  sun  could  have  fair 
play.  Tom  pointed  to  a  bare,  dusty  place,  and  said, 
in  a  low  voice: 

"  See  that  waller.  They've  been  there  to-day. 
I'll  stake  my  scalp  on  it." 

109 


MY   PEOPLE    OF   THE    PLAINS 

Passing  quietly  through  the  opening,  they  again 
entered  the  woods,  and  there  were  more  fallen  logs 
to  climb  over.  The  standing  timber  was  not  quite 
so  thick,  and  at  times  one  could  see  quite  a  distance 
up  the  divide.  The  stillness  was  almost  oppressive 
to  the  tenderfoot,  who  kept  his  gaze  fastened  on 
old  Pete.  Suddenly  the  donkey  stopped  and  went 
down  on  his  knees  twice.  The  tenderfoot  was  close 
behind,  and  Tom,  dismounting,  turned  and  motion- 
ed to  him.  He  promptly  got  down,  threw  the 
bridle-rein  over  his  horse's  head,  and,  Winchester  in 
hand,  he  noiselessly  approached  on  tiptoe. 

"Do  you  see  him?"  he  whispered. 

"Wait  a  minute,  partner,"  said  Tom,  as  he 
strained  his  eyes  through  the  trees.  "Yes,  one, 
two,  three.  Golly!  There's  a  big  bunch  on  'em, 
with  a  whoppin'  old  bull  in  the  lead.  Come  here, 
and  I  can  show  'em  to  you.  Dead  easy!  And  they 
'ain't  saw  us,  neither.  They're  comin'  this  way. 
You'd  better  drap  down  behind  this  big  tree  and  be 
all  ready.  Now,  don't  shoot  till  you've  got  a  dead 
cinch.  You  take  the  big  bull  in  the  lead.  I'll 
bring  down  one  of  them  f  oiler  in'." 

They  had  left  the  horses  -in  a  thick  underbrush 
where  they  were  hidden  from  sight.  When  the 
herd  came  within  fairly  short  range  both  men  fired. 
Tom  brought  down  his  bull,  but  the  leader  stagger- 
ed, fell,  and,  rising  again,  disappeared. 

"Oh,  partner,  you've  got  him  all  right.  You've 
got    him.     They    hardly    ever    fall   dead    in   their 

no 


THE   TENDERFOOT   AND   OLD    PETE 

tracks.  Sometimes  when  you  hit  'em  right  in  the 
heart  them  big  bulls  will  run  a  mile,  but  yourn 
ain't  a-goin'  to  run  no  mile,  I  bet  we'll  find  him 
stretched  out  on  the  ground  not  fur  from  here." 

True  to  Tom's  prophecy,  it  was  not  long  before 
they  found  the  dead  bull.  The  tenderfoot  was  wild 
with  joy,  and  his  gratitude  to  old  Pete  was  unbound- 
ed. "  I  tell  you,  Tom,  he's  a  good  one.  What  a  sen- 
sation he  would  make  in  the  Adirondacks!  Now, 
look  here,  Tom,  what  will  you  take  for  him?" 

Tom  laughed,  and  made  no  reply.  After  secur- 
ing the  heads  of  the  bulls,  and  as  much  meat  as 
they  could  conveniently  hang  up  for  safe  keeping 
until  it  was  possible  for  Tom  to  come  back  for  it, 
they  moved  on.  The  day  had  been  a  strenuous  one 
for  the  New-Yorker,  and  now  that  the  exhilaration 
was  over,  he  realized  for  the  first  time  that  he  was 
tired.  A  buck  and  a  bull  in  one  day  was  better  luck 
by  far  than  Tom  had  led  him  to  expect,  and  as  the 
sun  was  setting  he  welcomed  the  suggestion  of  the 
guide  that  they  go  into  camp  for  the  night.  A  cosey, 
sheltered  spot  was  found  near  the  river,  and  they 
soon  had  a  cheerful  camp-fire  and  a  good  dinner  of 
savory  venison  and  coffee,  for  Tom  was  an  excellent 
cook.  The  New-Yorker  thought  he  had  never  en- 
joyed a  meal  with  keener  relish.  That  night,  as  he 
crawled  under  his  blankets,  a  strange  sense  of  satis- 
faction possessed  him,  and  as  he  fell  asleep  he  was 
saying  to  himself:  "  If  only  I  could  take  old  Pete  to 
the  Adirondacks!" 

Ill 


MY   PEOPLE    OF   THE    PLAINS 

A  bright  and  early  start  was  made  next  morning. 
It  had  been  decided  that,  if  the  caribou  could  be 
secured  early  in  the  day,  they  would  get  back  to 
Kootenai  that  evening.  Tom  felt  somewhat  doubt- 
ful, but  was  not  without  hope.  It  must  have  been 
nearly  eight  o'clock,  and  after  they  had  been  ascend- 
ing the  mountain  circuitously  for  more  than  two 
hours,  that  Tom  said: 

"Now,  partner,  if  old  Pete  don't  skeer  up  a 
caribou  in  these  here  woods  we're  comin'  to,  it  will 
be  the  first  time  he's  ever  gone  back  on  me.  Keep 
close  to  me,  and  don't  talk." 

Slowly  and  as  noiselessly  as  possible  they  picked 
their  way  along.  Elated  as  the  tenderfoot  was  at 
having  killed  a  deer  and  an  elk,  yet  to  fail  in  bring- 
ing down  a  caribou  would  have  been  the  keenest 
disappointment.  Tom  also  fully  realized  that  a 
caribou  was  the  real  object  of  the  hunt.  Hence, 
there  was  a  sort  of  tension  of  feeling  and  interest 
that  was  evident  in  his  movements.  Not  one  word 
had  passed  between  the  men  for  some  time,  when, 
to  his  great  delight,  the  New-Yorker  saw  old  Pete 
drop  three  times  on  his  knees.  He  looked  eagerly 
ahead  to  see  if  he  could  catch  a  glimpse  of  his  first 
caribou;  but  in  vain.  He  then  turned  appealingly 
to  his  guide. 

"Wait  a  minute,"  said  Tom.  "I  know  old  Pete 
seen  him  all  right,  but  the  brush  is  mighty  thick 
here."  He  searched  the  distant  bushes  for  some 
time.     At  last  he  whispered:  "There!     There  he  is. 

112 


THE   TENDERFOOT   AND    OLD   PETE 

He's  walkin'  along  as  if  he  owned  a  gold-mine,  and 
he's  a  dandy." 

The  tenderfoot  had  caught  a  glimpse  of  him,  and 
had  levelled  his  Winchester.  The  caribou  was  just 
behind  a  cluster  of  small  pines,  and  evidently  had 
not  scented  the  hunters. 

"Take  your  time,  partner.  Get  a  good  bead  on 
him." 

At  the  first  shot  the  caribou  fell  upon  his  knees, 
but  quickly  recovered  himself  and  started  to  run. 

"Let  him  have  it  again,"  said  Tom. 

The  second  shot  brought  him  down.  An  instant 
later  the  proud  New-Yorker  was  standing  trium- 
phant over  his  prostrate  bulk.  No  words  can  de- 
scribe the  scene.  There  was  no  longer  need  of  re- 
straint, and  my  young  friend  abandoned  himself  to 
the  wild  intoxication  of  the  supreme  moment  of  his 
life. 

"Well,  Tom,  what  a  time  we  have  had!  Now  I 
can  go  back  East  and  die  happy.  I've  got  him. 
I've  got  him.  Dear  old  Pete!  I  owe  it  all  to  you," 
and  he  threw  himself  upon  the  donkey's  neck  and 
embraced  him. 

It  was  necessaiy  to  strap  the  head  of  the  caribou 
behind  the  saddle  of  the  New-Yorker,  for  the  other 
two  heads  would  be  all  that  the  pack-horse  could 
carry.  When  they  started  back  down  the  moun- 
tain-side one  could  have  heard  the  voice  of  the  vic- 
torious hunter  a  long  w^ay  off.  By  this  time  his  de- 
sire to  possess  old  Pete  as  his  own  had  become  his 

113 


MY   PEOPLE   OF   THE    PLAINS 

master  passion.  He  renewed  again  his  offer,  and 
pleaded  with  Tom,     Finally,  the  guide  said: 

"You  seem  kind  o'  stuck  on  this  here  mule.  I 
never  'lowed  to  sell  old  Pete,  but  bein'  as  it's  you, 
and  you  got  your  heart  so  sot  on  him,  maybe  we 
can  trade  after  all.  'Ceptin'  for  his  hunt  in',  old 
Pete  ain't  worth  no  big  pile  of  money.  He's  small, 
and  he's  honery  lookin',  but  you  see  what  he  kin  do, 
and  he's  all  the  livin'  I've  got.  Many's  the  dollar 
he's  made  for  me." 

"Well,  Tom,  what's  your  price  for  him?" 

"  I  never  sot  no  price  on  him.  He  didn't  cost  me 
no  great  pile,  but,  as  I  was  sayin',  he's  all  I've  got. 
Could  you  afford  to  give  me  three  hundred  dollars 
for  him?" 

"Yes,  I'll  take  him,  and  take  him  quick.  That's 
a  bargain.  Get  off  and  let  me  ride  him.  Here's 
two  one-hundred-dollar  bills  and  a  draft  on  New 
York  for  a  hundred  dollars  more." 

The  two  men  dismounted.  The  exchange  was 
made  and  the  money  paid  over.  And  now  the 
New-Yorker's  cup  of  happiness  was  full  to  over- 
flowing. There  was  still  a  long  ride  before  them, 
after  the  other  heads  had  been  picked  up,  and  Tom 
had  blazed  a  few  trees  leading  to  the  places  where 
the  meat  had  been  left.  At  noontime  they  stopped 
a  little  while,  and  made  a  meal  on  the  canned  goods 
and  crackers  and  cheese  of  which  Tom  had  laid  in  a 
large  supply.  The  trail  was  shady,  and  the  faithful 
beasts  of  burden,  with  their  heads  turned  towards 

114 


THE   TENDERFOOT  AND   OLD   PETE 

home,  made  better  time  than  usual.  The  sun  was 
just  sinking  in  the  West  when  they  reached  the  little 
river  near  the  settlement  of  Kootenai,  whence  they 
started.  The  tenderfoot,  astride  old  Pete,  plunged 
in  first,  Tom  and  the  pack-horse  following  close  be- 
hind. When  they  got  well  into  the  river  the  New- 
Yorker,  in  keeping  his  feet  clear  of  the  stream, 
raised  his  heels  and  touched  the  donkey  in  the 
flanks.  True  to  his  training,  as  soon  as  he  felt  the 
pressure  there,  old  Pete  dropped  upon  his  knees, 
half  submerging  his  rider. 

"Great  Scott!  Tom,  what  in  thunder  does  he  see 
now?"  cried  the  frightened  tenderfoot. 

"I  can't  tell  you,"  complacently  replied  the 
guide,  "unless  he  sees  a  sucker."  Then  to  the 
donkey:  "Get  up  from  there,  old  Pete.  Don't  you 
know  you're  on  your  way  to  the  Adirondacks?" 


CHAPTER  IX 

SOME    WYOMING   AND    IDAHO   MISSIONARIES 

AMONG  the  most  serious  difficulties  which  con- 
iV  front  a  western  missionary  bishop  is  that  of 
securing  well-equipped  ministers  to  assist  him  in 
his  work.  The  salaries  are  necessarily  so  small  that 
he  is  compelled  to  insist  that  men  shall  come  un- 
married, and  this  condition  is  made  more  impera- 
tive from  the  fact  that  social  life  in  the  mining- 
camp  renders  it  a  very  undesirable  place  for  women 
and  children.  As  a  result,  the  bishop  must  either 
take  yoimg,  inexperienced  men  fresh  from  the  semi- 
naries, or  he  becomes  the  victim  of  a  certain  type 
of  nomadic  clergymen  who  move  from  diocese  to 
diocese,  never  remaining  long  in  one  place  because 
never  succeeding  anyAvhere.  Thus,  while  the  very 
wisest,  most  efficient,  and  devoted  men  are  required 
to  cope  with  the  peculiar  difficulties  of  a  new  coun- 
try, and  lay  wisely  the  foundations  of  a  new  Chris- 
tian civilization,  such  men  are  simply  beyond  his 
reach,  save  in  a  few  exceptional  cases.  If  a  zealous 
and  gifted  young  man  is  moved  in  his  heart  to  go 
West,  his  success  soon  makes  him  a  shining -mark 
for  some  comfortable  Eastern  parish,  and  he  is  lost 

ii6 


SOME    WYOMING    AND    IDAHO    MISSIONARIES 

to  the  missionary  field.  Such  men  frequently  ac- 
complish excellent  work  while  they  remain,  and  I 
am  glad  to  observe  that  a  much  larger  number  of 
well-equipped  men  are  offering  themselves  year  by 
year  for  this  glorious  work.  Indeed,  the  tide  of  the 
missionary  spirit  is  steadily  rising,  and  the  time  is 
not  far  distant  when,  by  virtue  of  the  growing  en- 
thusiasm for  missions,  the  church's  noblest  and  best 
young  men  w'ill  claim  the  privilege  of  having  a 
share  in  this  heroic  work  in  the  mission  field.  It 
has  never  seemed  to  me  too  much  to  ask  that  every 
young  clergyman  who  consecrates  his  life  to  the 
service  of  his  fellow-man  should  be  willing  to  spend 
at  least  the  first  four  or  five  years  of  his  ministry  in 
the  difficult  and  isolated  stations  of  the  church's 
frontier. 

When,  in  1887,  I  found  myself  the  Bishop  of 
Wyoming  and  Idaho,  there  were  eight  clergymen  of 
our  church  in  the  entire  field,  four  in  one  territory 
and  four  in  the  other.  The  work  had  suffered  sadly 
from  the  lack  of  Episcopal  supervision,  owing  to  the 
long  vacancy;  and  it  was  evident  that  if  any  ad- 
vance was  to  be  made  recruits  must  be  secured. 
The  case  was  so  desperate  that  I  felt  disposed  to 
take  almost  any  earnest  and  godly  man,  whether  an 
ordained  clergyman  or  not. 

It  was  at  this  time  that  I  received  a  letter  from  a 
young  Irishman.  He  informed  me  that  he  had  just 
read  in  the  Irish  Ecclesiastical  Gazette  that  I  was  the 
youngest  Bishop  in  the  American  church,  and  that 

117 


MY   PEOPLE   OF   THE   PLAINS 

I  had  the  largest  diocese;  that  I  was  sadly  in  need 
of  men;  and  that  my  people  were  composed  largely 
of  miners  and  cow-boys  and  Indians.  He  begged  to 
offer  himself  unreservedly  for  the  work  in  my  great 
territory.  He  w^as  sorry  that  he  was  only  a  layman, 
but  hoped  some  day  to  be  ordained,  and  reminded 
me  that  he  had  had  much  experience  in  making  ad- 
dresses and  in  Christian  work;  that  he  was  in  the 
employ  of  the  Primitive  Methodist  Evangelization 
Society,  an  organization  in  communion  with  the 
Church  of  Ireland,  which  had  for  its  object  preach- 
ing the  simple  Gospel  to  the  poor  and  neglected; 
that  he  was  associated  with  a  number  of  young  men 
in  this  good  w^ork,  and,  having  been  blessed  with  a 
measure  of  success,  felt  anxious  to  cast  in  his  lot 
with  me  in  the  Far  West,  He  added,  that  so  far  as 
salary  was  concerned,  that  was  a  matter  of  indiffer- 
ence to  him,  as  his  great  object  was  to  win  souls, 
and  he  felt  sure  that  the  Lord  would  provide  for  his 
temporal  needs.  In  my  dire  extremity  I  could  not 
but  regard  this  letter  as  providential,  though  I  felt 
the  importance  of  proceeding  with  all  due  caution. 
I  replied  that  I  was  greatly  pleased  with  the  tone 
and  spirit  of  his  letter  and  his  evident  zeal  in  the 
good  cause;  that  I  was  disposed  to  consider  his  ap- 
plication for  work,  only  I  must  ask  him  to  be  good 
enough  to  refer  me  to  some  prominent  clergymen 
and  laymen  who  knew  him  well,  and  to  whom  I 
could  write  for  information  as  to  his  qualifications 
and  character.     In  due  course  of  mail  I  received 

ii8 


SOME    WYOMING    AND    IDAHO    MISSIONARIES 

another  letter  with  the  names  of  well-known  dig- 
nitaries in  the  Irish  church  to  whom  he  referred  me. 
I  wrote  them,  and  I  was  fully  reassured  by  their 
letters  that  the  young  man  was  entirely  sincere  and 
of  an  unblemished  record,  and  that  he  possessed 
gifts  which  would  fit  him  for  a  successful  work.  I 
therefore  determined  to  receive  him.  Knowing 
that  he  was  without  funds,  I  sent  him  a  draft  for 
fifty  dollars  to  help  defray  his  expenses.  In  antic- 
ipation of  his  coming  I  arranged  with  the  people  in 
a  coal-mining  town  in  Wyoming  to  receive  him  as 
their  missionary.  The  salary,  even  when  supple- 
mented by  a  small  grant  from  the  Board  of  Mis- 
sions, was  small;  but  the  little  flock  was  delighted 
at  the  prospect  of  having  a  pastor  settled  among 
them.  My  only  regret  was  that  his  stipend  was 
necessarily  so  inadequate,  but  I  hoped  that,  being 
all  alone,  he  could  with  economy  manage  to  get  on. 
Imagine  my  surprise,  therefore,  when  a  few  days 
later  I  received  a  letter  from  him  stating  that  my 
draft  had  reached  him,  and,  while  it  was  entirely 
unexpected,  yet  it  was  none  the  less  acceptable; 
that  he  intended  to  sail  in  less  than  a  week,  and 
that,  owing  to  the  "mildness  of  the  climate  and  the 
salubriousness  of  the  air,"  of  which  he  had  read  in 
the  encyclopaedias,  he  proposed  to  bring  a  wife  along 
with  him.  This  was  almost  too  much  even  for 
Episcopal  patience;  but  I  was  powerless.  Already 
my  young  friend  and  his  bride  must  have  sailed. 
It  was   impossible   to   head   him   off  by   cable.     I 

119 


MY   PEOPLE   OF   THE   PLAINS 

hastened  over  to  the  mining-camp,  and  met  in  the 
evening  at  the  company  store  around  the  stove,  the 
prominent  men  of  the  Httle  flock,  and  laid  before 
them  the  sad  predicament  in  which  I  found  myself. 
Now,  what  could  be  done?  The  wife  was  surely 
coming.     Immediately  the  mining  boss  spoke  up : 

"Look  here,  Mr.  Bishop,  that's  all  right.  Don't 
you  worry  about  that  young  wife.  The  one  thing 
this  here  camp  needs  is  a  nice  lady.  We're  glad 
he's  going  to  bring  his  bride.  We  can  raise  twice 
as  much  money  for  her  as  we  can  for  the  parson. 
I'll  go  around  among  the  boys,  and  I  know  many  of 
them  will  double  their  subscriptions  when  I  tell 
them  the  good  news.  We'll  take  care  of  them  all 
right." 

So  I  was  in  a  measure  comforted.  I  then  began 
to  be  apprehensive  about  the  severe  climate  in  that 
bleak  Wyoming  camp,  where  the  wind  howled  con- 
tinuously, and  snow  might  be  expected  almost 
every  month  in  the  year.  It  was  evident  that  my 
young  friend  had  been  reading  about  Southern  Cali- 
fornia, and  the  tropical  regions  of  America,  and 
supposed  he  was  coming  into  a  land  smiling  with 
plenty  and  abounding  in  luxuriant  flowers  and 
vegetation.  When  he  actually  arrived  and  got  off 
the  train  in  the  midst  of  a  raging  blizzard,  it  is  said 
he  looked  around  with  evident  dismay  and  in- 
quired: "But  where  are  the  poineapplcs ?"  But 
whatever  disappointment  the  weather  may  have 
caused  him  and  his  charming  young  wife,  there  was 

1 20 


SOME    WYOMING    AND    IDAHO    MISSIONARIES 

no  disappointment  for  the  people  themselves.  He 
proved  to  be  a  jewel,  and  soon  won  the  hearts  of 
the  miners  and  their  families;  and,  as  to  the  young 
wife,  she  was  greatly  beloved.  In  the  fullest  sense 
she  was  a  helpmeet  to  her  husband,  unselfish, 
gentle,  devout,  scrupulously  neat  as  a  housekeeper. 
The  humble  rectory  soon  became  the  centre  of  re- 
fining and  elevating  influence  in  the  little  com- 
munity. After  they  had  been  there  some  months  I 
made  my  first  visitation  to  the  mission  where  the 
young  man  had  don^  such  excellent  work.  Having 
received  with  much  modesty  my  most  sincere  com- 
mendation, he  said: 

"  Bishop,  would  you  like  to  secure  another  Irish- 
man?" 

"Indeed,  I  should  be  delighted,"  I  answered,  "if 
he  is  at  all  like  you." 

"Oh,"  said  he,  "but  he  is  far  superior  to  me. 
He  is  an  excellent  preacher  and  most  successful. 
He  is  one  of  my  co-workers  in  the  Primitive  Meth- 
odist Society,  and  is  a  most  eloquent  man." 

"But,"  I  inquired,  "would  such  an  able  man  be 
willing  to  come?" 

"Yes,"  he  replied,  "he  is  most  anxious  to  come. 
I  have  written  him  about  the  work  and  the  coun- 
try, and  he  longs  to  join  us." 

"But,"  I  continued,  "have  you  told  him  of  the 
small  salary  and  the  severe  climate,  and  all  the  dis- 
couragements which  surely  await  him?" 

"Yes,"  he  answered,  "he  knows  it  all,  but  such 

121 


MY   PEOPLE   OF  THE   PLAINS 

diiBculties  do  not  dishearten  him  in  the  least.     He 
is  full  of  the  missionary  spirit." 

Finally,  after  satisfying  myself  that  his  friend 
was  a  worthy  and  useful  man,  I  said: 

"One  more  question,  my  brother.  Do  you  think 
he  is  such  a  man  that  the  'mildness  of  the  climate 
and  the  salubriousness  of  the  air'  will  induce  to 
bring  a  wife  along  with  him?" 

"Indeed  he  is,"  he  replied.  "That  is  just  the 
point.     He  is  engaged  to  my  wife's  sister." 

Of  course,  the  prospect  of  getting  two  excellent 
missionaries  instead  of  one  led  me  to  send  another 
draft,  and  soon  his  friend  came.  These  brethren 
have  reflected  honor  upon  their  country,  and  won 
the  respect  of  all  who  know  them.  From  that 
same  Irish  society  I  obtained  several  more  excellent 
men. 

In  the  course  of  time  one  came  whom  I  placed  in 
a  very  discouraging  coal-camp.  He  was  there  for 
several  years,  and  his  salary  was  very  small.  Now 
and  then  as  I  met  him  he  would  hint  about  his 
"loneliness,"  and  intimate  that  he  would  like  to 
get  married ;  but  I  felt  it  my  duty  to  advise  him  to 
wait  until  he  should  have  a  better  place  and  a  more 
comfortable  income.  One  day  he  came  to  make 
me  a  visit.  Before  leaving  he  took  my  wife  into 
his  confidence,  and  begged  her  to  use  her  influence 
with  me  to  induce  me  to  allow  him  to  go  to  Ireland 
and  bring  over  a  wife.  He  told  her  he  was  en- 
gaged,  and  had  been  for  five  years;  showed  the 

122 


SOME    WYOMING    AND    IDAHO    MISSIONARIES 

young  woman's  picture,  and  said  she  was  anxious 
to  join  him  and  help  him  in  his  work.  My  wife 
urged  him  to  go  to  my  study  and  tell  me  the  whole 
story,  assuring  him  of  my  sympathy  and  cordial 
consent.  But  he  declined  to  do  so„  saying  that  I 
was  much  opposed  to  my  young  clergy  getting  mar- 
ried on  such  small  salaries  and  bringing  a  wife  to 
such  wretched  places  as  mining  -  camps.  He  im- 
plored Mrs.  Talbot  to  say  nothing  to  me  until  he 
had  gone,  and  then  to  break  it  to  me  gently.  So, 
when  my  genial  young  guest  had  departed,  I  was 
duly  waited  upon,  and  promptly  yielded  to  every 
demand. 

A  few  weeks  later  I  found  myself  the  guest  of  the 
young  missionary  in  his  little  sixty-dollar  shack.  I 
said: 

"And  so  you  are  engaged?" 

He  blushed,  and  replied: 

"Yes,  Bishop." 

"And  you  want  to  go  over  to  Ireland  and  get 
her?" 

"Yes,  very  much." 

"Are  you  sure  she  will  come  back  with  you?" 

"Oh  yes;  we  have  been  engaged  for  years,  and  I 
get  letters  from  her  every  week.  Here  is  her 
picture,"  showing  mc  the  picture  of  a  beautiful 
young  woman. 

"Do  you  mean  to  say,"  I  asked,  "that  this  lovely 
girl  has  promised  to  marry  you  and  come  to  this 
camp?" 

123 


MY   PEOPLE   OF   THE   PLAINS 

"Yes,  indeed,"  he  replied,  "she  is  eager  to  come." 

"  But,  my  brother,  do  you  realize  how  expensive 
it  will  be?  It  will  cost  a  great  deal  of  money  for 
you  to  reach  New  York  from  here ;  and  then  there  is 
the  passage  oyer  to  Ireland,  and  the  voyage  back 
for  two,  and  the  long  journey  from  New  York  to 
Wyoming." 

Still  undismayed,  he  said:  "I  have  figured  it  all 
out,  and  I  have  the  money." 

"You  have  the  money?"  I  asked.  "Where  did 
you  get  it?  You  have  only  been  receiving  eight 
hundred  dollars  a  year." 

"Oh,  I  have  saved  it  up,  Bishop,"  he  replied. 

"You  have?"  said  I.  "Then  evidently  I  have 
been  paying  you  too  much." 

He  laughed  heartily,  and  then  I  congratulated 
him,  and  commended  his  rare  financiering  and  good 
management,  and  told  him  I  would  gladly  add  a 
small  check  to  show  my  appreciation. 

"But,"  I  continued,  "now,  my  dear  fellow,  I 
hope  you  are  perfectly  sure  she  will  come  back  with 
you.  You  have  been  gone  a  long  time,  and  the 
girls  are  sometimes  a  little  uncertain.  Just  think 
how  horrible  it  would  be,  after  spending  all  that 
money  and  cherishing  this  beautiful  dream  for 
years,  were  she  to  change  her  mind." 

He  took  my  facetious  remarks  good-naturedly, 
and  laughed  at  the  very  idea  that  such  a  thing 
could  possibly  happen.  This  conversation  took 
place  early  in  September. 

124 


SOME    WYOMING    AND    IDAHO    MISSIONARIES 

The  following  October  I  was  attending  the  gen- 
eral convention  in  Baltimore.  Sitting  at  my  desk 
in  the  House  of  Bishops,  the  page  brought  me  a 
number  of  letters.  Among  them  I  recognized  the 
familiar  handwriting  of  my  young  -friend  and  an 
Irish  post-mark.  Opening  the  letter,  I  read  as  fol- 
lows. I  quote  from  memory,  but  substantially  the 
letter  as  I  received  it : 

"My  dear  Bishop, — I  have  a  sad,  sad  story  to  tell  you. 
You  remember  you  warned  me  lest  the  young  lady  to 
whom  I  was  engaged  might  deceive  me.  On  reaching  Ire- 
land I  went  at  once  to  the  town  in  which  she  lives.  She 
knew  I  was  coming.  As  I  was  on  my  way  to  her  house  I 
met  some  of  my  old  friends.  One  of  them  said:  'We  are 
so  glad  to  see  you;  but  have  you  read  yesterday's  paper?' 
'What  paper?'  I  asked.  'Why,  our  town  paper,  in  which 
it  is  announced  that  your  girl  is  engaged  to  another  man,' 
mentioning  his  name.  At  first  I  thought  they  were  jok- 
ing, but  with  much  earnestness  they  assured  me  it  was 
true.  Still  I  could  not  believe  it.  I  determined  to  go  and 
see  for  myself.  When  I  reached  her  home  she  did  not  re- 
ceive me  as  cordially  as  I  had  expected,  and  soon  she  told 
me  what  had  happened.  She  said  that  she  had  waited 
and  waited  until  hope  deferred  had  made  her  heart-sick, 
and  that,  besides,  she  had  always  loved  the  other  young 
man.  It  was  a  staggering  blow.  Think  of  the  cruelty  of 
it!  She  had  waited  until  I  actually  got  back  to  crush  my 
heart  with  disappointment.  Life  seemed  no  longer  worth 
living.  I  wished  that  the  ground  might  open  and  swallow 
me  up.  I  hardly  knew  which  way  to  turn.  My  mother 
did  all  she  could  to  console  me.  She  told  me  I  ought  to 
congratulate  myself  that  I  had  made  such  a  narrow  escape ; 
that  the  girl  never  was  worthy  of  mc,  and  that  she  always 
feared  she  might  serve  me  in  some  such  manner.  She 
added:  'Now,  my  son,  cheer  up.     Do  not  think  of  it  any 

125 


MY  PEOPLE   OF   THE   PLAINS 

more.  Let  no  one  know  what  has  happened.  There  are 
just  as  good  fish  in  the  sea  as  were  ever  caught.  Do  not 
mope  around  and  distress  yourself  about  that  girl.  Here 
is  something  that  will  interest  you,"  showing  me  an  in- 
vitation to  a  reception  to  be  given  me  that  week  by  my 
old  friends  and  neighbors.  I  told  my  mother  that  I 
simply  cotild  not  go  to  any  reception ;  that  I  felt  more  like 
going  to  bed;  that  my  heart  was  broken.  But  she  urged 
me  to  go,  reminded  me  that  I  was  young  and  that  life  was 
before  me;  that  I  must  be  brave  and  meet  the  world  with 
courage;  that  not  to  go  to  the  reception  so  kindly  given 
would  cause  serious  offence  and  call  for  explanations 
which  would  be  embarrassing;  that  I  simply  must  go. 
And  so.  Bishop,  I  went.  There  were  many  of  my  old 
friends  present.  Of  cotirse,  in  a  way  I  was  glad  to  see 
them,  but  I  was  in  no  frame  of  mind  to  enjoy  anything. 
It  required  a  terrible  effort  to  keep  up.  But  as  the  even- 
ing advanced  I  met  a  young  lady  whom  I  had  known  as  a 
child.  During  my  absence  she  had  grown  to  womanhood. 
Oh,  Bishop,  I  wish  you  could  hear  her  play  the  piano! 
Such  exquisite  touch  I  never  before  heard!  Then  her 
voice!  As  she  sang  some  of  those  beautiful  hymns,  like 
'Abide  with  Me'  and  'Lead,  Kindly  Light,'  it  just  seemed 
to  me  I  was  in  heaven.  Gradually  I  began  to  forget  my 
sorrow.  I  lingered  and  she  sang  on.  When  I  left  I  asked 
her  if  I  could  not  come  over  the  next  morning  and  hear 
some  more  music.  She  said  she  would  be  glad  to  have  me 
do  so.  So  I  went  again.  I  then  asked  her  if  I  could  not 
come  again  in  the  afternoon.  She  said  certainly  I  could. 
And  then.  Bishop,  it  occurred  to  me  what  a  splendid  mis- 
sionary she  would  make;  and  I  thought  of  you.  I  knew 
you  would  have  no  respect  for  me  if  I  did  not  bring  a  wife 
back  with  me.  So  I  at  last  asked  her  if  she  did  not  want 
to  be  a  missionary  and  go  back  with  me.  She  said  she 
did;  that  she  had  always  wished  to  be  a  missionary.  So 
we  called  in  the  old  folks,  and  they  gave  us  their  blessing, 
and  we  are  going  to  be  married  early  in  October,  and 
leave  at  the  same  time  I  originally  intended  for  America. 

126 


SOME    WYOMING    AND    IDAHO    MISSIONARIES 

Just  one  thing  more,  Bishop.  Please  do  not  let  my  people 
know  that  I  am  not  bringing  back  the  same  girl  I  came 
over  for." 

In  this  instance,  again,  I  am  most  grateful  to  re- 
late that  no  mistake  was  made.  Say  what  one  may 
about  the  suddenness  of  it,  a  most  kindly  Provi- 
dence must  have  guided  our  young  friend  and  more 
than  compensated  him  for  his  disappointment. 

On  one  occasion  a  letter  from  the  Bishop  of 
Pittsburg  arrived  asking  me  if  I  could  make  use 
of  a  young  Welshman  who  had  been  a  pastor  in  a 
non-Episcopal  church  in  the  suburbs  of  Pittsburg. 
The  Bishop  represented  him  as  devout  and  earnest, 
and  as  one  who  had  made  a  change  in  his  eccle- 
siastical relations  from  honorable  motives  of  con- 
viction, and  assured  me  that  he  had  enjoyed  the 
respect  of  the  religious  body  from  which  he  came. 
I  had  a  little  church  vacant  at  Douglas,  Wyoming. 
We  had  bought  it  from  our  Congregational  brethren, 
and  a  number  of  their  people  had  decided  to  throw 
in  their  lot  with  us.  Of  Episcopalians,  strictly 
speaking,  there  was  not  one  in  the  place;  but  there 
was  a  strong  desire  on  the  part  of  many  in  the  little 
community  for  an  Episcopal  church.  I  felt  that  as 
the  new  minister  was  unaccustomed  to  our  services 
he  would  be,  in  this  respect,  only  on  a  par  with  his 
flock,  and  they  could  gradually  learn  together.  So 
I  requested  the  Bishop  to  send  him  on.  He  arrived 
at  the  Episcopal  residence  at  Laramie  one  Friday 
morning.     The  next  Sunday  I  was  imder  promise 

127 


MY   PEOPLE   OF  THE   PLAINS 

to  have  him  installed  in  his  new  parish.  When  he 
presented  himself  at  my  front-door  my  heart  sank 
within  me.  He  was  so  diminutive,  and  so  demure. 
But  I  gave  him  a  cordial  welcome.  I  soon  ascer- 
tained that  he  was  entirely  unfamiliar  with  the 
Prayer-Book  and  our  form  of  worship,  and,  so  far 
from  having  any  clerical  vestments,  he  did  not  even 
know  their  names,  or  how  they  were  to  be  worn. 
In  reply  to  nearly  every  question  I  asked  him  he 
confessed  to  absolute  ignorance,  but  assured  me 
that  he  was  sound  on  the  doctrine  of  the  apostolic 
succession. 

"  But,  my  brother,  do  you  know  how  to  conduct 
the  services?" 

"No,  my  lord,  but  I  believe  with  all  my  soul  in 
the  doctrine  of  the  apostolic  succession." 

"Have  you  ever  taken  any  part  in  conducting 
one  of  our  services?" 

"No,  my  lord,  but  I  think  the  Bishop  of  Pitts- 
burg will  assure  you  that  I  am  stanch  on  the  doc- 
trine of  apostolic  succession." 

It  was  rather  discouraging.  At  length  I  vent- 
tired  to  beg  him  not  to  address  me  as  "my  lord," 
explaining  to  him  that  in  America  we  are  a  very 
democratic  people,  and  such  titles  of  nobility  are 
quite  out  of  place, 

"Then  what  would  your  lordship  have  me  call 
you?" 

"Just  'Bishop,'  if  you  please." 

"Oh,  my  lord,  excuse  me,  but  it  is  impossible.      I 

128 


SOME    WYOMING    AND    IDAHO    MISSIONARIES 

could  never  presume  to  be  so  familiar  with  your 
lordship." 

We  had  to  start  for  Douglas  the  next  morning, 
and  there  was  no  time  to  be  lost.  I  first  addressed 
myself  to  the  problem  of  getting  the  little  man 
properly  vested.  A  large  cassock  had  come  in  a 
missionary  box,  but  when  I  tried  it  on  him  he  was 
literally  lost.  But  the  good  ladies  of  the  household 
came  to  my  rescue,  and  we  cut  off  the  sleeves,  and 
about  two  feet  of  the  length,  and  tucked  up  the 
back,  until  finally  he  made  a  very  respectable  ap- 
pearance in  it.  Then  we  found  a  little  cotta  in  our 
boy  choir  which  fitted  him  admirably.  Next  I  began 
to  drill  him  in  the  church  service,  and  told  him  how 
to  find  the  lessons,  and  how  to  announce  them;  and 
instructed  him  as  to  the  postures  to  be  observed. 
Taking  him  into  the  procathedral,  I  gave  him  some 
suggestions  as  to  the  reverent  conduct  of  morning 
and  evening  prayer.  My  only  comfort  was  that, 
even  if  he  made  mistakes,  his  congregation  would 
not  recognize  them  as  such.  Early  the  next  day 
we  left  for  Douglas. 

At  that  time  the  Cheyenne  &  Northern  Railway 
was  only  built  as  far  as  the  Platte  River,  and  at  the 
terminus,  as  was  usual,  there  was  a  motley  crowd  of 
graders  with  their  teams.  When  the  day's  work 
was  over  they  made  the  night  hideous  with  their 
drunken  revels,  firing  off  pistols,  and  yelling  and 
swearing  until  sleep  was  next  to  an  impossibility. 
All  lived  in  tents.     One  of  the  officers  of  the  crew 

129 


MY   PEOPLE    OF   THE    PLAINS 

most  kindly  gave  us  a  tent  to  ourselves,  but  even 
then  my  young  brother  was  far  from  happy.  Of 
course  we  had  to  sleep  on  the  ground,  and  that  al- 
most broke  his  heart ;  not  that  he  cared  for  himself, 
but,  said  he:  "Think  of  your  lordship  sleeping  in 
this  rude  tent  on  the  ground."  Just  then  a  pistol 
was  fired  off  within  a  few  feet  of  us. 

"Oh,  my  lord,  are  you  hit?" 

By  the  candle-light  I  could  see  that  he  was  pale 
with  fright.  I  fear  he  passed  a  wretched  and  sleep- 
less night. 

The  next  morning  we  had  to  take  the  stage.  I 
offered  him  my  seat  on  the  box  with  the  driver,  but 
he  preferred  to  get  inside.  The  motion  of  the  stage 
and  the  tobacco  -  smoke  made  him  deathly  sick. 
When  we  reached  the  river  we  found  it  very  high 
for  fording.  The  w^ater  came  into  the  coach,  and 
the  current  was  very  swift.  In  truth,  there  was 
much  danger  in  crossing,  and  I  did  not  wonder 
that  my  little  friend  was  alarmed.  Once  safely 
over,  he  was  evidently  much  relieved,  but  very 
silent. 

We  reached  Douglas  about  six  o'clock  in  the  even- 
ing, Saturday.  It  was  court  week,  and  the  hotel 
was  crowded.  I  presented  the  new  minister  to  the 
proprietor,  as  he  was  to  board  at  the  hotel  and  I 
wished  him  to  feel  at  home.  I  asked  the  landlord 
if  he  could  give  us  each  a  room.  He  was  very 
sorry,  but  the  hotel  was  so  crowded  there  was  only 
one  room  to  spare. 

130 


SOME    WYOMING    AND    IDAHO    MISSIONARIES 

"  If  you  and  the  young  man  will  sleep  together  I 
think  you  will  be  comfortable,"  he  said. 

"  Very  well,"  I  replied.  "  How  does  that  suit  you, 
my  brother?" 

"Oh,  my  lord,  please  excuse  me.  I  could  not  do 
that.     Think  of  my  sleeping  with  your  lordship!" 

It  was  in  vain  that  I  told  him  I  often  slept  with 
my  clergy,  and  considered  myself  fortunate  to  get  a 
bed  at  all.  I  could  do  nothing  with  him.  He  said 
he  would  sleep  on  the  floor.  Later  in  the  evening 
the  proprietor  came  to  me  and  said: 

"  Bishop,  I  guess  that  little  preacher  is  a  tender- 
foot, ain't  he?" 

"Yes,"  I  said,  "most  tender." 
"Well,  I  have  been  able  to  make  a  new  deal,  and 
he  can  have  a  room  all  to  himself." 
So  the  vexed  question  was  settled. 
Early  the  next  morning,  Sunday,  I  heard  a  gentle 
rap  on  my  door.     It  was  the  new  minister.     As  I 
opened  the  door  he  said: 

"Oh,  my  lord,  I  have  not  been  able  to  sleep  for 
thinking  of  you.  You  have  no  valet,  no  one  to 
wait  on  your  lordship.  I  have  come  to  ask  if  I  may 
not  have  the  honor  of  blackening  your  lordship's 
boots?" 

"Thank  you,"  I  said,  "but  I  have  already  fin- 
ished that  part  of  my  toilet.  Come  in  and  put  up 
your  foot  and  let  me  give  you  a  shine." 

"Oh,  my  lord,  shocking!     And  does  your  lord- 
ship have  to  blacken  your  own  boots?" 
lo  131 


MY   PEOPLE   OF   THE   PLAINS 

To  a  man  brought  up  in  the  old  country,  with 
the  ideas  of  dignity  and  deference  and  awe  felt 
there  for  the  person  and  office  of  a  bishop,  it  was  a 
great  trial  to  the  righteous  soul  of  my  little  friend 
to  note  the  habits  of  an  American  bishop. 

The  hour  of  service  drew  nigh,  and  we  went  up 
to  the  little  church  in  good  time  so  I  could  give  him 
one  farewell  rehearsal.  According  to  the  announce- 
ment he  was  to  preach.  He  got  through  the  ser- 
vice remarkably  well,  and,  as  he  had  been  accus- 
tomed to  extempore  speaking,  gave  us  an  excellent 
sermon  on  the  text  "God  is  Love."  The  only  de- 
parture from  good  form  happened  at  the  close  of 
the  sermon,  when  he  said: 

"Ladies  and  gentlemen,  I  thank  you  for  your 
kind  attention.     Good-bye,  until  this  evening." 

It  is  greatly  to  the  credit  both  of  my  young 
brother  and  of  his  people  that  their  relations  con- 
tinued for  several  years,  and  that  he  was  greatly  be- 
loved by  the  community.  In  due  time  he  passed 
his  examinations,  and  was  ordained. 

I  am  glad  to  be  able  to  say  that  my  experience 
with  missionaries  of  other  religious  bodies  was  al- 
ways pleasant.  Indeed,  the  denominational  lines 
were  less  distinctly  drawn  on  the  frontier  than  in 
older  communities.  Occasionally,  there  would  crop 
out  a  little  good-natured  rivalry  between  the 
churches.  At  one  place  where  I  had  organized  a 
"preachers'  meeting,"  which  was  held  in  my  study 
every  Monday  morning,  there  was  an  interesting 

132 


SOME    WYOMING    AND    IDAHO    MISSIONARIES 

passage-at-arms.  For  months  the  various  ministers 
had  met  with  me,  and  there  had  not  been  a  jar  or 
note  of  discord.  But  it  happened  that  in  the  prose- 
cution of  my  work  I  had  recently  delivered  a  series 
of  lectures  on  the  claims  of  the  Episcopal  Church 
in  its  faith  and  ministry  and  sacraments.  At  the 
close  of  the  lectures  a  large  number  of  people  offered 
themselves  for  confirmation.  Of  these,  some  had 
attended  upon  the  ministrations  of  my  several 
brethren  of  other  churches.  It  was  perfectly  nat- 
ural that  this  should  have  aroused  a  little  feelincr. 
especially  as  I  felt  it  my  duty  to  dwell  strongly  upon 
the  question  of  ordination  and  ministerial  authority. 
So,  on  the  Monday  following  the  confirmation  ser- 
vice, all  gathered  as  usual,  but  I  thought  I  could 
notice  a  little  coolness  of  manner  on  the  part  of  two 
or  three  of  the  ministers.  It  chanced  that  a  young 
Baptist  minister  had  recently  come  to  town,  but 
had  never  attended  our  "preachers'  meeting."  I 
had,  therefore,  called  upon  him  and  urged  him  to 
be  present,  and  assured  him  of  a  fraternal  welcome. 
He  was  there.  When  the  meeting  was  called  to 
order  one  of  the  brethren  remarked  that  he  under- 
stood the  Rev.  Mr.  Blank  had  prepared  a  platform 
looking  to  the  better  organization  of  the  preachers' 
meeting.  Whereupon,  I  ventured  to  say  that  I  did 
not  see  the  need  of  any  written  platform;  that 
hitherto  we  had  met  together  very  unconvention- 
ally, and  all  had  proceeded  amicably;  and  that  I 
could  not  but  feel  that  one  reason  of  our  perfect 

133 


MY   PEOPLE   OF   THE   PLAINS 

agreement  was  the  absence  of  any  formal,  written 
constitution.  However,  I  added  that  if  Brother 
Blank  wished  to  present  a  platform  I  should  be  en- 
tirely willing  to  hear  it  read.  It  was  then  moved 
and  carried  that  the  platform  be  presented.  It 
read  as  follows: 

"  In  order  to  promote  that  fraternal  feeling  which 
should  subsist  between  all  of  God's  people,  and  es- 
pecially between  those  whom  He  has  set  apart  as 
leaders  in  his  church,  we  hereby  express  our  belief 
in  and  assent  to  the  equal  ministerial  and  ecclesi- 
astical authority  of  each  other  in  the  Church  of  God." 

Of  course  I  saw  at  once  the  drift  of  the  platform. 
It  was  a  rebuke  to  my  claims  of  an  apostolic  min- 
istry— the  crux  between  them  and  myself.  But  I 
was  determined  not  to  take  it  to  myself.  Near  by 
sat  my  kind  and  unsuspecting  Baptist  brother.  I 
coiild  see  at  a  glance  that  the  platform  was  just  as 
applicable  to  him  as  to  me.     I  arose  and  said: 

"Brethren,  I  am  very  sorry  that  this  platform 
should  be  presented  on  this  occasion  particularly. 
We  have  invited  here  for  the  first  time  our  Baptist 
brother.  He  is  our  guest.  He  came  somewhat  re- 
luctantly, as  he  had  never  met  any  of  you,  but  I 
called  on  him  and  begged  him  to  meet  with  us,  and 
assured  him  of  a  most  cordial  and  fraternal  welcome. 
Now  I  deeply  regret  that  he  has  scarcely  taken  his 
seat  before  you  present  for  his  signature  a  docu- 

134 


SOME    WYOMING    AND    IDAHO    MISSIONARIES 

mcnt  which  you  must  all  have  known  he  cannot 
possibly  sign.  Our  brother  is  a  conscientious  Bap- 
tist, and,  as  such,  honestly  believes  that  no  one  has 
been  baptized  who  has  not  been  immersed.  Of 
course,  he  cannot  recognize  your  ordination  or  mine, 
as  from  his  point  of  view  we  have  not  even  been 
baptized.  He  may  grant  us  honest,  and  recognize 
us  as  Christians,  but  when  you  come  to  a  question 
of  ministerial  authority  he  must  draw  the  line.  I 
appeal,  brethren,  on  behalf  of  this  our  brother. 
This  is  the  close  of  the  nineteenth  century,  and  not 
.  the  age  of  the  Inquisition.  I  believe  our  brother 
has  as  much  right  here  as  any  of  us,  and  I  hope  the 
platform  will  not  be  adopted." 

How  well  I  remember  the  scene!  My  young 
Baptist  brother  stood  up,  and  with  much  emotion 
said: 

"Brethren,  I  wish  first  of  all  to  thank  Brother 
Talbot  for  saying  for  me  that  w^hich  it  would  have 
been  so  difficult  for  me  to  say  for  myself.  Brethren, 
I  love  you  all,  and,  as  Brother  Talbot  has  said,  I 
have  no  doubt  you  love  the  Master  as  devotedly  as 
I  do,  I  recognize  you  as  Christians  and  as  brethren, 
but  as  I  read  my  Bible  I  can  only  find  one  mode  of 
baptism — namely,  immersion.  I  cannot,  therefore, 
acknowledge  your  ministerial  authority,  as  bap- 
tism is  a  prerequisite  to  the  ministry.  I  am  sorry 
that  this  platform  has  been  presented,  for  I  had 
looked  forward  with  pleasure  to  our  intercourse  to- 
gether."    He  then  resumed  his  seat. 

135 


MY   PEOPLE   OF  THE   PLAINS 

Another  minister  arose.     He  said : 

"Brethren,  I  am  amazed  at  this  platform.  I 
have  preached  the  gospel  all  over  the  country,  and 
I  never  heard  such  a  platform  as  this.  Of  course, 
our  Baptist  brother  cannot  sign  it,  and  we  have  no 
right  to  ask  him  to  sign  it.  Indeed,  when  I  come 
to  think  of  it,  I  can  hardly  see  how  Brother  Talbot 
himself  can  sign  it." 

So  the  issue  of  the  platform  was  ended,  and  our 
Baptist  brother  won  the  day. 

The  heroism,  self-sacrifice  and  devotion  evinced 
by  our  Methodist,  Presbyterian,  Baptist,  and  Roman 
Catholic,  and  other  brethren  in  the  Far  West  were 
such  as  to  win  my  reverent  regard.  And  great  is 
the  debt  which  our  new  civilization  owes  to  these 
pioneers  of  the  Gospel. 


CHAPTER  X 

TWO   FAMILIAR   TYPES 

THOSE  of  my  readers  who  arc  familiar  with 
Owen  Wister's  Lin  McLean  and  The  Virginian 
will  have  learned  something  of  the  true  nature  of 
the  cow-boy,  and  that,  despite  his  rough  exterior, 
he  is  capable  of  loyal  friendship  and  deeds  of  valor. 
It  was  at  Fort  Washakie  that  I  first  had  the  pleasure 
of  meeting  Mr.  Wister,  and  I  have  always  supposed 
that  he  was  one  of  my  hearers  that  night  when  I 
preached  the  sermon  on  the  Prodigal  Son,  on  which 
his  hero,  Lin  McLean,  makes  such  interesting  com- 
ments. 

Be  that  as  it  may,  it  was  on  the  edge  of  that 
same  reservation  that  my  friend,  Mr.  J.  K.  Moore, 
had  the  round-up  at  which  a  certain  famous  cow- 
boy figured  conspicuously.  This  man  had  come 
from  Texas;  not  voluntarily,  but  because  the 
climate  had  become  too  warm  for  him.  He  had 
killed  several  men  in  a  drinking  row  in  that  State. 
The  Texan,  for  thus  we  shall  designate  him,  had 
changed  his  name,  so  that  his  identity  might  be 
lost,  and  had  apprised  only  his  immediate  friends  at 
home  of  this  fact. 

137 


MY   PEOPLE   OF   THE   PLAINS 

During  a  long  stage  -  ride  towards  the  north,  a 
drummer  —  a  particular  friend  of  mine  —  and  two 
cow-punchers  returning  from  Texas  were  among 
the  passengers.  The  cow-boys  happened  to  learn 
that  my  friend  was  on  his  way  to  a  large  supply 
store  where  they  knew  the  Texan  did  his  trad- 
ing. Feeling  entire  confidence  in  the  drummer, 
they  intrusted  to  his  care  a  letter  for  the  Texan 
which  some  dear  one  at  home  had  given  them 
rather  than  run  the  risk  of  sending  it  through  the 
mail. 

On  arriving  at  his  destination  my  friend  made  in- 
quiries as  to  the  whereabouts  of  the  Texan,  and 
learned  that  he  had  just  come  in  from  the  round-up, 
and  was  on  a  spree,  terrorizing  all  who  came  in  con- 
tact with  him.  When  the  drummer  ascertained  the 
reputation  of  the  man  whom  he  was  seeking  he  dis- 
creetly bided  his  time  until  the  Texan  had  sobered 
off.  He  then  handed  him  the  letter.  It  w^as  evi- 
dent that  the  Texan  was  overjoyed  to  receive  the 
news  from  home,  and,  after  eagerly  devouring  it, 
turned  to  my  friend,  and  said: 

"Runner,  how  in  the  hell  did  you  know  where  to 
find  me?" 

The  drummer  replied  that  he  did  not  know,  but 
had  been  looking  for  him  for  several  days;  that  he 
had  received  the  most  explicit  instructions  not  to 
part  with  the  letter  until  he  could  deliver  it  per- 
sonally ;  and  failing  to  find  him  he  was  to  mail  it  to 
a  certain  address  in  San  Antonio,  Texas. 

138 


TWO   FAMILIAR   TYPES 

"Well,  stranger,  you  have  made  a  friend  forever 
of  the  very  meanest  cow-puncher  in  Wyoming. 
But  it's  worth  standing  'twixt  you  and  a  bullet  to 
get  this  letter." 

The  two  parted,  neither,  perhaps,  thinking  any 
more  of  the  incident. 

A  year  passed,  and  a  busy  land-office  had  been 
established  just  across  the  Wyoming  line  in  the 
State  of  Nebraska.  The  drummer  was  called  there 
on  business.  As  is  always  the  case  in  such  a  motley 
frontier  gathering,  many  unscrupulous  characters 
had  crowded  in  to  prey  upon  the  unsuspecting  ten- 
derfoot. Men  of  this  type  always  wore  the  out- 
ward symbols  of  the  cow-puncher,  and  conspicuously 
displayed  their  .44  revolvers.  It  was  the  time  of  a 
great  round-up,  and  the  company  store  was  full  of 
cow-boys.  In  this  gathering  the  drummer  was  sur- 
prised to  encounter  "the  meanest  cow-puncher  in 
Wyoming,"  as  the  Texan  had  styled  himself.  A 
cordial  greeting  passed  between  them,  and  the 
Texan  expressed  much  delight  in  seeing  his  bene- 
factor again,  and  then  passed  to  the  other  end  of 
the  store.  My  friend  was  selling  a  line  of  hats,  and 
happened  to  put  on  a  white  derby  from  his  box  of 
samples.  Immediately  one  of  these  would-be  "bad 
men"  of  the  tin-horn  variety,  in  a  loud  voice,  ac- 
costed him. 

"Say,  stranger,  don't  you  know  you  are  trans- 
gressing one  of  our  imwritten  laws?  That  hat  of 
yours  can't  stand  this  climate  unless  we  let  a  little 

139 


MY   PEOPLE   OF   THE   PLAINS 

air  in  it."     At  the  same  time  he  suggestively  tapped 
the  pistol  at  his  belt. 

A  crowd  promptly  gathered  to  see  the  fun.  This 
was  the  opportimity  the  Texan  had  sought  to  prove 
his  heartfelt  gratitude  to  the  man  who  had  be- 
friended him.  With  vulture-like  voracity  he  seized 
it.     Advancing  towards  my  friend  he  said : 

"Say,  Mr.  Runner,  did  you  know  that  we  have 
imported  the  best  back-stepper  in  the  States,  and 
this  is  him?  I  know  you  want  to  see  him  dance." 
Drawing  his  .38  he  ordered  the  officious  bully  to  begin. 

The  Texan  was  no  stranger  to  him,  and  he  lost  no 
time  in  obeying.  The  frail  structure  of  the  store 
fairly  shook,  and  a  few  canned  goods  dropped  from 
the  shelves,  but  the  enjoyment  was  too  evident  on 
all  sides  to  allow  the  sport  to  be  discontinued.  Ut- 
terly worn  out,  time  and  again  the  victim,  with  his 
two  .44's  dangling  uselessly  at  his  sides,  gave  his 
tormentor  a  doglike  look  of  appeal;  but  no  mercy 
was  shown  him,  and  he  was  ordered  to  "keep  it 
up."  At  last  my  friend  begged  that  the  poor  fellow 
be  allowed  to  rest. 

"Only  on  one  condition,"  said  the  Texan,  ad- 
dressing the  dancer.  "You  either  leave  these  dig- 
gings to-night,  or  I'll  make  a  ring  out  here  in  front 
of  this  store  to-morrow  morning,  and  let  this  man 
that  you  have  insulted  beat  hell  out  of  you." 

The  drummer,  unaccustomed  to  battle  in  the 
arena,  was  greatly  relieved  the  next  morning  to 
find  the  bully  had  fled. 

140 


TWO   FAMILIAR   TYPES 

That  night  the  drummer  was  destined  to  witness 
a  still  more  painful  exhibition  of  the  Texan's  cool 
and  relentless  mastery  of  a  dangerous  situation. 
There  was  to  be  a  cow-boy  dance  in  which  all  the 
rough  element  of  that  frontier  community  was  ex- 
pected to  participate.  The  cow-boy  insisted  upon 
taking  his  new  friend  with  him,  assuring  the  drum- 
mer when  he  appeared  reluctant  that  it  would  be  a 
sight  worth  seeing,  and  that  he  would  get  him 
safely  through.  They  went  together.  All  pro- 
gressed smoothly  until  about  midnight,  when  the 
dance  was  in  full  swing,  and  the  Texan  had  dis- 
tinguished himself  by  his  grace  and  abandon  as  a 
dancer.  Suddenly  an  excited  man  rushed  in  to  the 
hall,  and,  seizing  the  Texan  by  the  arm,  cried  out: 

"Big  Steve  is  on  a  drunk,  and  is  coming.  He's 
here  already.     You'll  have  to  be  quick." 

The  Texan  barely  had  time  to  throw  aside  the 
girl  with  whom  he  was  dancing  and  to  draw  his  six- 
shooter,  when  there  was  a  commotion  among  the 
crowd  at  the  other  end  of  the  hall,  and  there  ap- 
peared at  the  doorway  a  dust -covered  man  and 
horse.  It  was  Big  Steve,  the  Texan's  w^ell-known 
enemy,  whom  he  had  vowed  to  shoot  on  sight.  To 
the  consternation  of  the  dancers  the  big  man  rode 
his  bronco  straight  through  their  midst  to  the  centre 
of  the  hall,  evidently  seeking  his  foe.  But,  quick 
as  a  flash,  before  he  had  time  to  single  out  the  ob- 
ject of  his  search,  the  Texan  had  taken  careful  aim 
and  fired.    For  an  instant  a  red  spot  appeared  in 

141 


MY   PEOPLE   OF   THE    PLAINS 

Big  Steve's  forehead.  He  reeled  in  his  saddle,  and 
fell  from  his  horse — dead.  There  was  no  further 
excitement.  The  dance  broke  up,  the  guests  scat- 
tering to  their  homes.  No  effort  was  made  to 
bring  the  Texan  to  justice.  The  deadly  feud  be- 
tween these  two  men  had  become  notorious,  and  it 
was  generally  understood  that  one  of  them  must 
die.  The  survivor  in  this  mortal  combat  bade  the 
drummer  good-bye,  as  if  nothing  had  happened,  and 
before  morning  dawned  had  ridden  quietly  out  of 
the  town. 

When  next  I  heard  of  the  Texan  he  was  the 
trusted  agent  of  the  cattle-men  who  had  organized 
to  rid  the  country  of  the  thieves  with  which  Wyo- 
ming was  so  grievously  afflicted.  The  cow-puncher's 
wide  acquaintance  among  men  of  his  own  class,  the 
respectful  awe  with  which  he  was  regarded  by 
them,  his  rare  knowledge  of  human  nature,  and  his 
unswerving  loyalty  to  the  righteous  cause  which  he 
represented,  made  his  services  indispensable  as  a 
leader  in  that  memorable  crisis  of  the  cattle  in- 
dustry of  the  State. 

Such  was  the  type  of  man  who  won  the  admira- 
tion and  respect  of  a  people  who  worshipped  per- 
sonal loyalty  and  physical  courage.  And,  indeed, 
there  was  in  the  man's  soul  a  genuine  spark  of  true 
nobility.  In  his  dealings  with  his  friends  he  reached 
a  higher  standard  of  honor  than  is  common  among 
men,  and  he  was  never  known  to  break  his  word. 

Another    type    encountered    everywhere    in    the 

142 


TWO   FAMILIAR   TYPES 

West  at  that  time  and  made  familiar  to  the  reading 
public  by  many  works  of  fiction  dealing  with 
frontier  life  was  the  professional  gambler.  Again 
and  again,  in  the  prosecution  of  my  work,  I  was 
thrown  into  relations  more  or  less  close  with  these 
men.  I  cannot  recall  one  instance  where  those  who 
followed  this  vocation  pretended  to  defend  their 
manner  of  life.  On  the  contrary,  they  would  ad- 
mit they  were  heartily  ashamed  of  it,  usually  alleg- 
ing that  they  had  been  driven  to  this  means  of 
livelihood  through  force  of  circumstances,  and  as- 
suring me  that  they  proposed  to  abandon  it  at  the 
first  opportunity.  But  the  life  possessed  a  strange 
fascination  for  its  devotees,  and  I  have  known  only 
a  few  instances  where  they  have  carried  out  their 
purpose  of  amendment.  There  seems  to  be  a  sort 
of  excitement  connected  with  the  element  of  un- 
certainty and  chance  from  which  it  is  next  to  im- 
possible for  the  professional  gambler  to  break 
away.  It  is  the  one  vice  which  seems  wellnigh 
hopeless,  and  against  which  I  always  found  it  diffi- 
cult to  make  any  headway. 

Among  the  boys  who  attended  my  school  in  Mis- 
souri was  the  son  of  a  minister  of  another  religious 
body,  a  most  devout  and  excellent  man.  This  boy 
was  his  only  child,  and  the  mother  had  died  when 
he  was  very  young.  As  a  result,  the  lad's  early 
training  devolved  largely  upon  others,  especially  as 
the  pastoral  duties  of  his  father  kept  him  almost 
constantly  from  home.     When  placed  in  my  school 

143 


MY   PEOPLE   OF  THE   PLAINS 

the  boy  seemed  to  be  of  a  dreamy  and  unpractical 
turn  of  mind,  not  given  to  study  but  fond  of  read- 
ing stories  of  adventure.  I  would  frequently  find 
him  absorbed  in  some  cheap,  sensational  novel  of  a 
blood-curdling  nature,  and  his  appetite  for  that  sort 
of  literature  was  insatiable.  At  the  same  time  he 
had  an  affectionate  nature,  and  one  could  not  but 
be  attracted  to  him.  After  leaving  school  his 
father  found  some  employment  for  him,  but  he 
evinced  no  aptitude  for  business,  and  became  rest- 
less and  discontented. 

One  day  his  father  came  to  see  me  in  great  dis- 
tress to  inform  me  that  his  son  had  run  away  from 
home  during  his  absence,  and  had  not  been  heard 
of  for  nearly  a  month. 

A  few  years  later  I  was  elected  Bishop  of  Wyo- 
ming and  Idaho,  and  as  I  was  about  to  leave  for  the 
West  the  broken-hearted  father  again  paid  me  a 
visit.  His  grief  over  the  disappearance  of  his  child 
was  all  the  more  acute  because  of  his  suspense  as  to 
his  whereabouts.  He  said  he  had  come  to  see  me 
because  he  felt  persuaded  that  his  son  had  gone  to 
the  Far  West;  that  the  boy  had  often  expressed  to 
him  his  purpose  of  making  that  country  his  home 
as  soon  as  he  reached  his  majority;  that  he  was 
constantly  talking  about  Buffalo  Bill  and  other 
Western  heroes;  that  he  had  found  in  his  room  no 
other  books  but  romances  of  miners,  cow-boys, 
gamblers,  and  stage-robbers.  He  begged  me,  there- 
fore, to  bear  his  son  in  mind,  and  said  he  felt  that,  in 

144 


TWO   FAMILIAR   TYPES 

God's  providence,  I  should  surely  be  the  means  of 
finding  and  saving  him.  It  was  in  vain  that  I  re- 
minded him  what  a  vast  and  almost  unlimited  area 
the  West  comprised,  and  how  imlikely  it  was  that 
in  my  journeying  through  such  a  thinly  populated 
district  as  Wyoming  and  Idaho  I  should  come 
across  his  boy.  But  so  strongly  was  he  convinced 
that  I  should  surely  find  him  that  his  attitude 
made  a  deep  impression  on  my  mind. 

After  I  had  entered  upon  my  Western  work  I  re- 
ceived frequent  letters  from  the  minister,  imploring 
me  not  to  forget  his  request,  and  assuring  me  that 
he  was  making  the  recovery  of  his  wandering  boy 
the  subject  of  earnest  prayer  day  by  day.  Of 
course,  under  these  circumstances  the  matter  was 
frequently  upon  my  mind,  but  I  had  not  the  slight- 
est hope  of  ever  meeting  the  youth,  nor  did  I  share 
the  father's  opinion  as  to  the  certainty  of  his  having 
gone  West. 

Eight  or  ten  years  must  have  passed  when,  one 
night,  I  found  myself  on  a  train  bound  for  Boise 
City  in  Idaho.  The  hour  was  past  midnight,  and  I 
could  not  reach  my  destination  until  early  the  next 
morning.  Only  a  few  men  were  in  the  coach,  and 
as  I  took  my  seat  I  observed  just  opposite  me  a 
young  man  about  thirty  years  of  age.  Something 
about  his  appearance  attracted  my  attention.  He 
was  evidently  a  sporting  man,  as  his  dress,  his  large 
black  mustache  and  general  bearing  clearly  indi- 
cated.    Tired  as  I  was,  I  could  not  help  looking  at 

145 


MY   PEOPLE   OF   THE   PLAINS 

him;  for  there  seemed  something  strangely  familiar 
in  his  face;  but  I  found  the  effort  to  recall  where  I 
had  seen  him  before  entirely  futile.  It  was  also 
evident  that  he  was  interested  in  my  presence,  and 
was  rather  critically  surveying  me.  Just  as  I  was 
about  to  stretch  myself  out  on  the  seat  for  a  little 
sleep  he  came  across  the  aisle  and  addressed  me. 

"Are  you  not  the  Bishop?"  he  asked. 

"Yes,"  I  replied,  "and  your  face  recalls  some  one 
whom  I  have  known." 

He  smiled,  and  I  recognized  him  as  my  former 
pupil,  and  called  his  name. 

"You  are  right,"  he  said,  "only  I  am  not  known 
by  that  name  any  longer.  My  name  here  is  Henry 
D.  Waters.  I  knew  you  were  out  in  this  Western 
country,"  he  continued,  "and  I  have  been  anxious 
to  look  you  up;  but  the  fact  is  I  have  been  rather 
afraid  to  meet  you.  I  knew  you  would  feel  it  your 
duty  to  write  my  father  that  you  had  found  me, 
and  then  I  felt  sure  you  would  ask  me  what  I  was 
doing,  and  when  you  learned  my  business  you 
would  be  ashamed  of  me." 

As  I  realized  that,  after  all  these  years,  I  had 
actually  come  face  to  face  with  my  young  friend,  I 
was  profoundly  impressed  with  the  significance  of 
the  occasion,  and  deeply  anxious  to  learn  all  that 
he  would  reveal  of  himself.  I  gradually  drew  him 
out,  and  finally  he  frankly  told  mc  that  he  was  a 
professional  gambler.  He  had  recently  been  run- 
ning a  faro-bank. 

146 


TWO   FAMILIAR   TYPES 

"Did  you  ever  see  one,  Bishop?"  he  asked.  "If 
you  will  step  across  here  I  would  like  to  show  it  to 
you,  and  also  let  you  see  some  of  my  other  deals.  I 
have  one  of  the  best  outfits  in  the  Rockies.  I 
think  some  of  my  games  will  interest  you." 

It  was  a  novel  situation  in  which  I  found  myself, 
and  I  was  not  a  little  amazed  at  the  cool  noncha- 
lance with  which  he  proceeded  to  display  his  para- 
phernalia. In  his  manner  there  was  not  the  slight- 
est suggestion  of  compunction  of  conscience. 

"  Now,  first  of  all,"  he  remarked,  "  to  show  you  that 
I  am  not  in  this  business  for  my  health,  look  at  this." 

As  he  spoke  he  reached  down  and  produced  an 
ornamental  hand-bag,  and  took  but  of  it  a  buck- 
skin wallet  w^hich  must  have  contained  a  quart  of 
gold  coins  in  five,  ten,  and  twenty  -  dollar  gold- 
pieces.  As  I  was  examining  it  I  also  noticed  in 
the  hand  -  bag  a  revolver.  He  pointed  out  the 
superb  workmanship  of  this  weapon,  and  said: 

"Of  course,  I  always  carry  another  gun  in  my 
hip-pocket." 

Then  reaching  up,  he  brought  down  from  the 
rack  a  gilt-mounted  and  highly  polished  wooden 
box  which  contained  "two  or  three  secrets  of  the 
trade,"  as  he  called  them.  I  can  only  recall  dis- 
tinctly now  the  "faro-bank  lay-out"  upon  whose 
merits  he  discoursed  for  some  time.  As  he  ex- 
plained the  working  of  this  device  I  was  painfully 
impressed  with  the  feeling  that  it  was  an  ill-dis- 
guised swindle.     I  ventured  to  say  to  him: 

147 


MY   PEOPLE   OF   THE   PLAINS 

"Is  this  a  fair  and  square  deal?" 

He  smiled  and  replied: 

"Well,  of  course,  the  fellow  who  runs  the  bank 
has  a  big  advantage  in  the  end." 

Referring  again  to  the  bag  of  gold,  he  said : 

"This  is  all  mine,  Bishop,  and  I  am  on  my  way 
to  Boise  to  add  to  my  pile.  You  know  the  legislat- 
ure is  now  in  session  up  there,  and  there  is  always 
plenty  of  money  at  this  time,  and  I  am  expecting 
quite  a  'rake-in.'" 

He  seemed  to  be  afraid  that  I  should  attempt  to 
lecture  him,  and  I  thought  I  could  see  on  his  part  a 
plan  to  kill  time  by  monopolizing  the  conversation 
so  as  to  forestall  me.  After  he  had  quite  finished 
telling  me  about  some  of  his  "big  hauls,"  and  ex- 
plaining to  me  the  several  gambling  devices  which 
he  had  with  him,  he  suddenly  turned  to  me  and 
said: 

"Now  I  see  you  want  to  talk  to  me.  If  you  are 
going  to  advise  me  to  give  up  this  business,  I'll  just 
say  I've  already  made  up  my  mind  to  do  so.  I 
have  had  enough  of  it.  It  is  a  dog's  life.  It  keeps 
a  man  on  the  strain  day  and  night,  and  I  don't 
wonder  that  so  many  gamblers  lose  their  minds. 
Then  it  throws  a  man  into  the  meanest  and  most 
unprincipled  crowd  of  rascals  that  walk  the  earth. 
The  only  thing  that  has  kept  me  going  all  these 
years  is  the  fact  that  I  don't  touch  a  drop,  and  so 
keep  cool.  I  have  been  at  times  mighty  lucky,  and 
then  again  I  lose  every  red.     Just  now,  as  you  see," 

148 


TWO   FAMILIAR  TYPES 

looking  at  his  wallet,  "  I  am  well  heeled.  But  after 
this  session  of  the  legislature  is  over  I  am  going  to 
swear  off  for  good." 

I  thought  he  had  put  forth  a  rather  clever  argu- 
ment against  the  evils  of  a  life  of  gambling,  and 
felt  that  he  had  decidedly  anticipated  me.  I  am 
not  prepared  to  assert  that  my  young  friend  was 
deliberately  trying  to  deceive  me  as  to  his  future 
course.  Indeed,  I  am  rather  disposed  to  believe 
that  at  that  time  he  really  meant  to  abandon  a  life 
which,  in  those  better  moments  that  come  to  all 
men,  he  found  so  very  unsatisfactory.  All  through 
the  night  I  talked  with  him,  and  tried  to  make  him 
realize  the  inevitable  end  of  a  career  such  as  he  had 
espoused.  I  dwelt  upon  the  pain  and  humiliation 
the  knowledge  of  it  would  give  his  father;  told  him 
of  the  long  and  anxious  years  of  prayer  and  solici- 
tude through  which  the  old  man  had  passed  on  his 
account ;  and  pleaded  with  him  to  free  himself  from 
the  debasing  associations  of  his  environment  be- 
fore it  was  too  late.  He  stoutly  reaffirmed  his  good 
resolution  of  amendment,  expressing  much  affec- 
tion for  his  father,  and  begged  me  not  to  inform 
"the  governor"  as  to  his  manner  of  life;  he  also 
promised  to  write  him  a  good  letter,  and  to  keep  in 
touch  with  him  henceforth.  But,  as  through  years 
of  sad  experience  with  men  of  his  type  I  had  been 
made  familiar  with  the  terrible  fascination  of  the 
gambling  habit,  I  confess  I  had  but  little  hope  of 
the  successful  outcome  of  our  interview.     As  a  mat- 

149 


MY   PEOPLE   OF   THE   PLAINS 

ter  of  fact,  he  did,  for  a  little  while,  embark  in  the 
real-estate  business,  married  an  estimable  young 
woman,  and  settled  down.  But  he  soon  got  tired 
of  a  life  which  seemed  to  him  so  prosaic,  and  went 
back  to  the  more  congenial  atmosphere  of  his  old 
profession.  It  was  at  least  a  great  comfort  to  the 
aged  parent  to  hear  from  me  that  I  had  found  his 
boy,  and  that  he  was  looking  so  well.  One  or  two 
letters  actually  passed  between  them.  Subsequently, 
all  correspondence  ceased,  and  the  letters  sent  by 
his  father  were  unclaimed  and  returned.  His  habit 
of  assuming  different  names  as  the  fancy  struck 
him,  and  thus  hiding  his  identity,  made  it  next  to 
impossible  to  trace  him.  In  a  recent  letter  from 
the  father,  I  learn  that  he  has  no  idea  of  his  son's 
present  whereabouts.  No  tidings  have  come  from 
him  for  years.  But  the  old  man's  loving  solicitude 
and  heart-felt  anxiety  have  never  ceased.  One  can 
only  hope  that  the  object  of  such  tender  affection 
and  so  many  prayers  may  even  yet  "come  to  him- 
self" and  cheer  the  declining  years  of  a  father  so 
steadfast  in  his  devotion.  The  story  is  typical  of  a 
certain  class  of  young  men  who  have  not  the  moral 
stamina  to  resist  the  influences  of  an  environment 
which  in  a  new  country  is  very  seductive. 


CHAPTER  XI 

HERE  AND  THERE  AMONG  MY  FLOCK 

THERE  were  several  military  garrisons  dis- 
tributed throughout  Wyoming  and  Idaho  when 
I  was  sent  there  as  bishop.  In  Wyoming  were 
Forts  Russell,  McKinney,  Laramie,  and  Washakie, 
while  at  Rock  Springs  the  government  maintained 
a  small  troop  in  order  to  protect  the  property  of 
the  Union  Pacific  Railroad  and  preserve  peace  in 
the  mines.  In  Idaho  were  Fort  Sherman  and 
Boise  Barracks.  Once  a  year,  as  in  the  course  of 
my  visitations  I  came  near  these  military  posts,  it 
was  my  custom  to  hold  service  for  the  soldiers. 
Some  of  the  most  valued  friendships  I  had  the 
privilege  of  making  in  the  West  were  formed  during 
those  annual  visits.  At  Fort  Sherman  I  met  Gen- 
eral Carlin,  and  Captains  Price,  Coates,  Bubb,  and 
Thompson;  while  at  various  posts  in  Wyoming  I 
knew  Colonels  Burt,  Coolidge,  Freeman,  and  other 
officers  under  their  command.  Of  these  worthy 
representatives  of  our  army,  some  have  since  re- 
turned and  others  have  been  promoted  to  higher 
rank.  The  cordial  welcome  and  gracious  hospi- 
tality uniformly  extended  to  me  by  the  officers  and 

151 


MY   PEOPLE   OF  THE   PLAINS 

their  families  never  failed  to  make  my  brief  sojourn 
with  them  memorable;  and  I  shall  always  cherish  a 
most  grateful  recollection  of  these  bright  spots  in 
my  missionary  experiences.  The  glimpses  I  thus 
obtained  of  army  life  left  on  my  mind  a  most  favor- 
able impression  of  the  dignified  and  soldierly  bear- 
ing of  the  men  commanding  the  United  States 
forces  in  the  West.  I  have  since  followed  the 
careers  of  my  army  friends  with  the  keenest  in- 
terest, and  have  felt  it  an  honor  to  have  been 
thrown  into  such  close  relations  with  them. 

Among  the  prominent  laymen  whom  it  was  al- 
ways a  pleasure  to  meet  in  my  busy  life  as  a  bishop 
were  Senators  Carey,  Warren,  and  Clark  of  Wyo- 
ming, and  our  distinguished  representative,  Congress- 
man Mondell.  In  Idaho  were  Senators  Shoup, 
Dubois,  and  Heyburn.  Of  these  latter  Senator 
Shoup  has  recently  passed  away.  He  was,  perhaps, 
the  best-beloved  man  in  Idaho,  quite  apart  from 
his  political  affiliations.  Indeed,  he  was  one  of 
nature's  noblemen,  and  I  cherished  for  him  the 
warmest  affection.  He  was  a  native  of  Pennsyl- 
vania, served  through  the  Civil  War  with  distinc- 
tion, and  afterwards  had  a  most  thrilling  experi- 
ence in  Indian  wars  in  Colorado  and  elsewhere.  He 
was  absolutely  without  fear,  and  under  his  coura- 
geous leadership  as  colonel  the  warlike  tribes  that 
had  terrorized  the  frontier  were  speedily  brought 
under  the  strong  arm  of  the  government.  He  was 
generous   to   a    fault,    modest   and   unaffected,    of 

I.S2 


?IERE    AND   THERE   AMONG   MY   FLOCK 

transparent  integrity  of  character,  and  instinc- 
tively won  the  confidence  of  men.  He  was  ahvays 
ready  to  respond  with  generous  Uberahty  to  every 
good  cause. 

The  mention  of  Senator  Shoup's  venerated  name 
leads  me  to  state  that  the  conditions  of  frontier  life 
often  developed  a  high  type  of  manhood,  quite  un- 
usual elsewhere.  Frequently  these  men  were  not 
connected  with  any  church,  a  fact  which  may  be 
explained  by  the  absence  of  organized  Christianity 
during  the  earlier  years  of  their  residence  there ;  but 
they  were  in  fullest  sympathy  with  the  principles  of 
righteousness  for  which  the  church  stands,  and 
could  always  be  relied  upon  to  use  their  influence  in 
behalf  of  decency  and  morality.  They  were  the 
warm  personal  friends  of  the  clergy  in  general,  and 
a  bishop  felt  the  stronger  for  their  outspoken 
loyalty  and  support.  Their  wives  and  families 
were,  for  the  most  part,  members  of  my  flock,  and 
I  always  thought  of  the  men  themselves  as  an  im- 
portant part  of  my  diocesan  family. 

In  the  Wood  River  country  of  Idaho  there  lived 
a  most  lovable  man  of  whom  I  became  very  fond. 
His  wife  was  a  cultured  gentlewoman,  devoted  to 
her  husband,  and  enthusiastically  interested  in  the 
church.  I  was  frequently  entertained  at  their 
house.  It  was  a  cause  of  great  concern  to  her  that 
her  noble  husband  had  never  been  confirmed. 
There  was  one  weakness  that  held  him  back.  The 
Colonel  would   occasionally  give  way   to  the   con- 

153 


MY   PEOPLE   OF  THE   PLAINS 

vivial  habits  so  common  in  the  West,  and  his  sprees 
would  continue  for  some  days.  These  periodical 
lapses  greatly  mortified  his  wife.  When  they  were 
over  the  colonel  was  duly  penitent,  and  would 
brace  up  bravely,  and  sometimes  be  able  to  remain 
firm  for  several  months.  But  the  consciousness  of 
this  tendency  made  him  hesitate  to  take  a  position 
as  a  member  of  the  church,  lest  in  some  evil  hour 
he  might  bring  contempt  upon  a  cause  for  which  at 
heart  he  cherished  the  profoundest  respect.  Just 
before  leaving  Idaho  to  become  Bishop  of  Central 
Pennsylvania,  I  was  making  my  last  visitation  to 
the  little  parish  where  the  Colonel  lived.  They 
again  claimed  me  as  their  guest,  and,  on  my  arrival, 
his  wife  had  much  to  say  about  her  husband's  rela- 
tion to  the  church.  She  dwelt  upon  the  long 
friendship  that  had  subsisted  between  himself  and 
me,  and  was  good  enough  to  say  that  he  was  deeply 
grieved  at  the  thought  of  my  leaving  Idaho;  that 
he  was  fond  of  me,  and  that  I  had  more  influence 
with  him  than  any  one  else;  that  she  felt  sure  he 
was  thinking  seriously  of  being  confirmed,  for  she 
had  talked  with  him  about  it;  that  she  believed,  if 
I  would  present  the  matter  to  him,  he  would  de- 
cide to  act;  that  in  order  to  give  me  a  good  oppor- 
tunity to  do  so,  she  had  arranged  for  me  to  be 
alone  with  him  after  dinner.  When  we  were  to- 
gether I  followed  out  the  suggestions  of  his  good 
wife,  and  told  him  that  I  believed  the  grace  and 
spiritual  strength  which  confirmation  was  intended 

154 


HERE  AND  THERE  AMONG  MY  FLOCK 

to  convey  would  enable  him  to  lead  a  consistent 
•  life;  that  hitherto  he  had  made  the  struggle  alone, 
but  that  the  church  was  established  on  earth  in 
order  to  help  men  to  overcome  temptation  and  to 
give  them  a  support  not  to  be  found  elsewhere. 
My  argument  seemed  to  impress  him.  He  listened 
with  evident  interest  and  every  mark  of  respectful 
consideration.  When  I  had  finished  he  said  he  sup- 
posed I  was  right,  and  that  he  had  often  thought  of 
taking  the  step  to  which  I  urged  him,  but  he  con- 
tinued : 

"  I  should  like  to  ask  you  a  few  questions,  if  you 
do  not  object." 

"  I  shall  be  only  too  glad  to  answer  them  if  I  can, 
Colonel.     Please  proceed." 

"Well,  Bishop,  do  you  think  my  wife  is  a  good 
woman?" 

"One  of  the  best  I  have  ever  known." 

"Do  you  think  she  is  a  Christian?" 

"  If  she  is  not,  I  should  doubt  whether  any  of  us 
could  be  so  considered." 

"Well,  now,  do  you  think  she  will  make  it?" 

"How  is  that,  Colonel?"  I  asked. 

"  Do  you  think  my  wife  will  get  in?" 

Still  determined  not  to  appear  to  divine  his 
meaning,  I  said:  "Excuse  me,  Colonel,  but  please 
explain." 

"I  simply  mean  this.  Bishop:  Do  you  think  that 
St.  Peter  will  let  the  old  lady  pass  through  the 
pearly  gates?" 

155 


MY   PEOPLE    OF   THE    PLAINS 

"I  have  not  a  doubt  of  it,  Colonel." 

"Then  you  think  that  you  can  guarantee  that 
she  will  get  in?" 

"So  far  as  my  opinion  is  worth  anything,  I  can- 
not for  a  moment  question  it." 

"Well,  then,  if  that  is  so,  I  do  not  think  I  shall 
be  confirmed.  In  fact,  I  do  not  see  that  I  need  to 
be.  You  see.  Bishop,  it  is  just  this  way :  If  the  old 
lady  gets  in,  and  they  lock  the  door  against  the  old 
man,  she  will  simply  raise  hell  tmtil  she  gets  me  let 
in.     And  she's  sure  to  succeed." 

It  was  in  vain  that  I  tried  to  convince  him  of  the 
futility  of  such  an  argument.  His  faith  in  his 
wife's  influence  was  too  strong  to  be  shaken  by 
anything  I  could  allege.  I  have  never  seen  so  firm 
a  believer  in  the  doctrine  of  the  "  Intercession  of  the 
Saints."  Ah,  well,*  they  have  both  gone  hence, 
dear,  good  souls!  And  it  is  not  for  us  to  presume 
to  place  any  limitations  on  the  boundless  mercy  of 
Him  who  knoweth  so  well  whereof  we  are  made. 

One  evening,  on  reaching  a  mining-camp,  I  was 
in  the  wash-room  preparing  for  dinner  after  a  dusty 
ride  in  the  stage-coach.  In  the  adjoining  hotel 
office  I  overheard  this  conversation. 

"Are  you  going  to  hear  the  Bishop  talk  this 
evening?" 

"Yes,"  was  the  reply,  "I  thought  I  would  go. 
They  say  there's  quite  a  number  goin'  to  join  the 
church." 

" Is  that  so?     Do  you  know  who  they  be ?" 

1.^6 


HERE  AND  THERE  AMONG  MY  FLOCK 

"No,  I  'ain't  heered  who  they  all  be,  only  they 
tell  me  Jake  Simpson's  got  religion,  and  he's  among 
them." 

"You  don't  say!  Well,  that  beats  the  Dutch. 
If  he's  got  religion,  I'll  bet  ten  to  one  he's  got  it  in 
his  wife's  name." 

I  did  not  fully  comprehend  the  significance  of  this 
comment  until  later,  when  I  learned  that  Jake  did 
not  enjoy  the  best  reputation  as  a  man  of  business 
integrity,  and  whenever  his  creditors,  who  were 
numerous,  tried  to  collect  their  bills  they  found 
that  he  had  put  everything  in  his  wife's  name-. 
Evidently  his  friends  thought  that  Jake  would  be 
likely  to  carry  the  same  tactics  into  his  religious 
practice. 

It  was  during  this  visit  that  a  saloon-keeper  called 
on  me  at  my  hotel.  When  I  came  down-stairs  he 
said: 

"Bishop,  we  have  three  kids  for  you  to  brand, 
and  the  old  woman  asked  me  to  come  and  see  if 
you  could  not  do  it  some  time  to-morrow.  Bishop 
Tuttle  fixed  up  all  the  rest  on  'cm  when  he  was  here 
the  last  time." 

Of  course,  I  was  glad  to  have  the  privilege  of 
baptizing  the  dear  little  children,  and  an  hour  was 
agreed  upon. 

"Well,  now,  Bishop,  the  old  woman  would  like  to 
have  a  little  spread  and  celebrate  the  occasion,  if 
you  don't  object.  You  see,  we  are  all  old-country 
folks." 

157 


MY   PEOPLE   OF  THE   PLAINS 

It  would  surprise  some  of  my  readers  to  have 
seen  how  genteel  a  company  gathered  on  that  occa- 
sion at  this  saloon-keeper's  house.  The  tastefully 
dressed  men  and  women,  the  modest  and  reverent 
behavior  of  all  during  the  service,  the  delicious  re- 
freshments served  in  perfect  form— for  all  this  I  was 
hardly  prepared  myself.  Then  the  toasts  proposed 
for  the  health  of  the  newly  baptized  little  Christians 
completed  a  function  in  every  way  seemly  and  ap- 
propriate. 

On  this  occasion  I  met  a  Mrs.  Thompson,  who 
told  me  an  amusing  incident  in  connection  with 
Bishop  Tuttle,  my  predecessor.  This  good  woman 
was  a  Missourian,  like  myself,  and  very  proud  of 
her  native  State.  She  was  always  quick  to  resent 
the  slightest  imputation  against  it.  The  Bishop 
had  been  elected  to  Missouri,  and  was  making  his 
last  round  of  visitations  before  leaving  Idaho  to 
take  up  his  new  work.  He  was  calling  on  the 
Thompson  family.  With  a  good  deal  of  emotion  he 
said: 

"Yes,  my  dear  friends,  in  God's  providence  I 
have  been  elected  Bishop  of  Missouri.  I  have 
thought  of  it  much,  and  prayed  over  it  faithfully, 
and  it  seems  to  be  my  duty  to  accept  this  call. 
And  so,  in  a  few  weeks,  I  am  to  say  good-bye  to 
dear  Idaho,  and  leave  for  Missouri.  And  at  length," 
he  added,  sadly,  "  I  must  fold  my  hands  in  death, 
and  be  buried  in  old  Missouri." 

"Oh,  Bishop,  don't  feel  so  badly  about  it,"  said 

158 


HERE   AxND   THERE   AMONG   MY   FLOCK 

Mrs.  Thompson.     "Why,  we  have  the  most  beauti- 
ful cemetery  in  St.  Louis  you  ever  saw." 

I  used  to  hear  many  amusing  stories  told  at  the 
expense  of  my  native  State.  It  was  said  that  the 
brigade  of  General  Sterling  Price,  of  the  Confederate 
army,  when  disbanded,  came  almost  in  a  body  to 
Idaho  and  Montana.  Of  course,  they  continued  to 
vote  the  Democratic  ticket,  and  were  ever  loyal  to 
the  memory  of  the  "lost  cause."  There  were  Mis- 
sourians  and  Missourians,  and  some  of  them  were 
pretty  tough  citizens,  and  Pike  County  became 
somewhat  notorious. 

One  evening  four  men  were  seated  at  a  table  in  a 
restaurant.     One  of  them  said: 

"  Well,  boys,  here  are  four  of  us  at  this  table,  and 
I'll  bet  we  are  each  one  from  a  different  State. 
It  does  beat  all  how  in  this  new  country  we  come 
from  all  over  the  Union.  Now  let's  see.  Neighbor, 
what's  your  State?" 

"Illinois,"  was  the  reply. 

"And  yours?"  pointing  to  the  next  man. 

"Arkansas." 

"And  yours?" 

"Wisconsin." 

"There,  what  did  I  tell  you?  Just  as  I  said,  here 
are  four  men  and  four  States." 

"But,"  said  one,  "my  friend,  now  you  have 
found  out  what  States  we  come  from,  but  you  have 
not  told  us  your  own  State." 

"That's  none  of  your  darned  business." 

159 


MY   PEOPLE   OF  THE   PLAINS 

"Well,  you  needn't  get  mad  about  it.  You 
started  the  racket.  Are  you  ashamed  of  your 
State?" 

Quick  as  a  flash  the  man  ripped  out  his  six- 
shooter,  and  said: 

"Well,  if  you  must  know,  I'm  a  Missourian. 
Now,  darn  you,  don't  laugh." 

When  I  first  went  out  to  Idaho  there  were  few 
church  buildings  in  the  mining  -  camps.  Indeed, 
unless  there  was  a  prospect  of  the  camp  proving 
more  or  less  permanent,  it  was  not  wise  to  erect  a 
church  to  be  deserted  in  a  year  or  two  when  the 
mine  should  be  worked  out.  On  the  occasion  of 
the  bishop's  annual  visitation,  as  a  consequence, 
services  were  usually  held  in  a  hall,  often  known  as 
the  "dance-hall,"  and  used  for  political  meetings, 
lectures,  theatricals  or  whatever  object  served  to 
call  the  people  together.  This  dance-hall  was  liter- 
ally the  only  place  available  for  public  gatherings. 

At  a  certain  mining  -  camp  I  had  appointed  an 
evening  for  service  well  in  advance  of  my  coming, 
so  that  the  people,  many  of  whom  had  to  come 
from  a  distance,  might  be  duly  apprised  of  the  visi- 
tation. Nearly  every  summer  there  was  a  theatrical 
troupe,  known  as  "The  Billy  and  Eva  McKinley 
Show,"  that  made  the  rounds  of  the  mining-camps. 
They  varied  their  programme  each  year,  and  were 
always  very  popular,  succeeding  in  attracting  the 
whole  community  to  their  performance.  When 
Billy  and  Eva  reached  this  particular  camp  they 

160 


HERE  AND  THERE  AMONG  MY  FLOCK 

found  that  I  had  already  cni^agcd  the  hall  for  the 
evening.  They  had  an  appointment  at  another 
camp  for  the  next  night,  and  I  was  due  at  still  an- 
other. Hence  it  was  not  at  all  convenient  for 
either  of  us  to  give  way.  It  was  a  blow  to  Billy 
that  I  had  pre-empted  the  evening  and  the  hall; 
but  he  was  fertile  in  resources,  and  promptly  came 
to  see  me. 

"Well,  Bishop,"  he  said,  " I  have  come  to  see  you. 
This  is  the  first  time  I  ever  run  up  against  a  bishop, 
and  I  find  you've  got  the  cinch  on  me.  This  is  one 
of  my  very  best  towns,  and  I  can't  afford  to  miss 
it,  and  I  reckon  you're  in  the  same  box.  Now, 
can't  we  make  some  kind  of  a  deal?" 

I  replied  that  it  would  give  me  pleasure  to  ac- 
commodate him  in  any  way  in  my  power. 

"Well,  now,"  he  said,  "what  time  does  your 
show  begin?" 

"At  eight  o'clock,"  I  answered. 

"And  how  long  does  your  show  last?" 

"I  shall  see  to  it,"  I  assured  him,  "that  it  does 
not  last  more  than  an  hour.  You  shall  have  the 
hall  by  nine  o'clock.  In  fact,  it  will  be  easy  to  send 
around  word  that  my  service  will  begin  at  seven- 
thirty,  so  that  I  can  be  through  by  eight-thirty,  and 
I  shall  see  that  this  is  done.  Moreover,  I'll  tell  the 
people  when  they  assemble  that  your  entertainment 
will  follow  immediately  after  the  service," 

"Bishop,  will  you  do  that?" 

"Certainly  I  will.     I  wish  the  people  all  to  have 

i6i 


MY   PEOPLE   OF   THE    PLAINS 

the  pleasure  of  attending  your  performance.  I 
know  you  present  a  clean  and  entirely  praiseworthy 
play,  and  my  friends  here  have  so  few  opportunities 
of  this  kind  that  I  am  in  hearty  sympathy  with  you. 
Indeed,  I  shall  be  there  myself." 

"Well,    if    that    ain't    treating   us    stage  -  people  * 
white,  my  name  ain't  Billy  McKinley.     You  bet, 
I'll  fetch  all  my  troupe  to  your  show,  and  we'll  be 
mighty  proud  to  be  there,  too." 

At  the  hour  of  divine  service  the  dance-hall  was 
packed,  the  theatrical  troupe  had  the  front  seats, 
and  everybody  was  happy.  In  a  surprisingly  short 
time  after  the  service  the  play  was  put  on,  and 
proved  a  delightful  little  comedy,  with  a  touching 
finale,  the  moral  effect  of  which  could  not  have  been 
otherwise  than  up-lifting.  In  meeting  the  various 
members  of  the  theatrical  party  afterwards,  I  foimd 
several  of  them  communicants  of  the  church. 

There  were  not  many  colored  people  in  that  new 
country,  but  I  felt  a  particular  interest  in  the  scat- 
tered few  I  found  there,  because  the  fourteen  years 
of  my  work  as  a  clergyman  in  Missouri  had  been 
passed  in  the  midst  of  a  large  population  of  the 
negro  race.  Indeed,  one  of  the  most  touching  in- 
cidents connected  with  leaving  my  old  home  for 
Wyoming  and  Idaho  was  associated  with  an  old 
colored  man  who  had  been  a  faithful  servant  in  my 
family  for  many  years. 

Uncle  Billy  was  the  janitor  of  my  boys'  school, 
and  was  anxious  to  show  me  some  special  mark  of 

162 


HERE  AND  THERE  AMONG  MY  FLOCK 

his  esteem  before  I  left.  One  Sunday  morning  he 
came  to  see  me,  and  said: 

"  Professor,  our  colored  biship  is  gwine  to  preach 
in  our  church  to-night.  He  has  came  clar  from 
Washington  City,  and  the  bredderin  would  be 
mighty  proud  if  you  would  come  over  and  set  wid 
him  on  the  pull-pit." 

"Thank  you.  Uncle  Billy,"  I  replied.  "But  un- 
fortunately I  have  an  evening  service  of  my  own  in 
St.  James's  at  the  same  hour.  Otherwise  I  should 
be  glad  to  come." 

"Oh,  I  knowed  dat.  Professor;  but  you  see  de 
colored  folks  don't  have  dere  meetin'  till  about  half- 
past  eight,  case  many  of  our  wimmen  folks  is  work- 
in'  out  and  can't  git  dar  no  sooner.  You'll  be  all 
froo  your  meetin'  'fore  ours  takes  up." 

"Is  that  so?"  I  answered.  "Then,  Uncle  Billy, 
you  may  depend  on  me.  I  shall  be  glad  to  come 
over  and  hear  and  meet  your  bishop." 

As  soon  as  my  evening  service  was  finished  I 
went  to  the  African  Methodist  Church.  As  I  drew 
near  I  saw  a  large  number  of  the  colored  brethren 
standing  at  the  door  unable  to  get  in.  Uncle  Billy 
was  watching  for  me,  and,  as  I  approached,  took 
my  arm,  and  led  me  through  the  crowded  doorway 
into  the  building.  The  aisles  were  filled  with  people 
standing.  It  was  a  great  occasion  to  have  a  colored 
bishop  come  from  Washington,  and  all  w^ished  to 
hear  him.  It  was  yet  a  quarter  of  an  hour  before 
the  appointed  time  for  service.     With  difficulty  we 

163 


MY   PEOPLE   OF   THE   PLAINS 

made  our  way  up  the  middle  aisle.  When  near  the 
platform  I  noticed  that  the  bishop  was  kneeling  at 
the  conventional  sofa,  his  back  to  the  congregation, 
engaged  in  silent  prayer.     I  paused,  and  said: 

"Uncle  Billy,  we  will  wait  here  until  the  bishop 
is  through.     Let  us  not  disturb  his  devotions." 

"  Never  mind.  Professor.  De  biship  kin  pray 
any  time;  but  he  don't  git  a  chance  to  meet  de 
professor  ebery  day." 

With  that  remark  he  fairly  dragged  me  to  the 
edge  of  the  platform.  He  then  said,  in  a  voice  quite 
audible  throughout  the  church: 

"Biship!" 

At  first  the  bishop  appeared  to  pay  no  attention 
to  the  interruption.  But  Uncle  Billy  again  called 
to  him  in  a  loud  voice.  The  bishop  looked  over  his 
shoulder  at  us,  still  kneeling. 

"Please  come  dis  way  jest  a  minute,"  said  Uncle 
Billy. 

With  a  graciousness  altogether  admirable  the  ven- 
erable divine  approached  us. 

"Biship,  dis  am  de  professor,"  said  the  old  man. 

We  greeted  each  other,  and  I  was  invited  to  take 
a  seat  by  his  side  on  the  sofa.  I  ventured  to  apolo- 
gize to  the  bishop  for  Uncle  Billy,  telling  him  that 
I  could  not  control  the  situation. 

The  bishop  replied: 

"Oh,  it  doesn't  matter.  You  sec  I  am  staying 
at  Brother  Jones's  house,  and  he  means  no  harm." 

The  service  proceeded,  and  I  was  asked  to  read  a 

164 


HERE  AND  THERE  AMONG  MY  FLOCK 

lesson  and  ofTer  a  prayer.  After  the  scholarly  and 
excellent  sermon  the  collection  was  taken  up. 
Then  came  a  rousing  hymn  sung  as  only  our  colored 
brethren,  when  spiritually  aroused,  can  sing.  The 
bishop  rose  and  said : 

"Let  us  kneel  while  Brother  Jones  leads  us  in 
prayer." 

This  was  Uncle  Billy's  supreme  opportunity. 
Probably  in  recognition  that  he  was  entertaining 
the  distinguished  preacher,  and  ministering  to  his 
physical  wants,  it  had  been  arranged  that  my  old 
servant  should  take  this  particular  part.  Uncle 
Billy  knelt  on  one  knee  so  that  he  could  keep  time 
with  his  toe  and  hands.  He  prayed  with  great 
fervor  and  unction.  He  thanked  the  good  Lord 
that  he  had  sent  the  bishop  to  "  deliver  dat  power- 
ful sarmint."  He  prayed  that  it  might  go  straight 
to  the  hearts  of  all  "de  sinners  and  bring  'em  to  de 
Saviour."  He  reminded  the  Lord  that  "de  pro- 
fessor come  ober  from  de  college  to  be  wid  us  at 
our  meetin'."     He  said: 

"  You  know.  Lord,  de  professor  is  tryin'  to  bring 
up  dem  young  men  in  Dy  fear  and  admonishun. 
We  pray  Dee  to  help  de  professor  in  his  great  work 
of  Christian  eddication.  May  de  young  men  under 
his  keer  grow  up  as  pillars  in  de  temple  of  de  Lord. 
Yes,  good  Lord,  be  wid  him  as  he  goes  out  to  dat 
fur  Western  land  to  preach  de  Gospel  to  ebery 
creecher.  Be  wid  him  in  all  his  ways,  in  his  gwine'- 
in  and  comin'-out.     Finally,  O  Lord,  we  pray  Dee 

165 


MY   PEOPLE   OF   THE   PLAINS 

to  send  down  on  de  professor  Dy  sanctiim  sanc- 
torum." 

A  hearty  amen  from  the  people  showed  how  they 
appreciated  my  old  friend's  effort. 

Early  the  next  morning  when  Uncle  Billy  came 
into  my  room  to  make  the  fire,  I  felt  an  irrepressi- 
ble desire  to  ascertain  just  what  he  meant  by  his 
"  sanctum  sanctorum. ' '     I  said : 

"Uncle  Billy,  I  wish  to  thank  you  for  inviting 
me  over  to  hear  your  bishop.  He  is  an  able  and 
eloquent  preacher,  and  I  was  glad  to  meet  him. 
And  then  I  was  greatly  touched  by  your  kind 
thought  in  remembering  me  and  my  boys.  I  ap- 
preciate your  interest  in  my  anxious  work,  and  need 
the  prayers  of  all  good  men.  But,"  I  added,  as  tact- 
fully as  possible,  "Uncle  Billy,  are  you  aware  that 
in  closing  your  prayer  you  made  use  of  a  very  un- 
usual and  striking  theological  expression?  Do  you 
remember  that  you  asked  the  good  Lord  to  send 
down  on  me  his  'sanctum  sanctorum'  ?" 

"Oh  yes,  professor.  Dat  I  do  remembers  it. 
The  fac'  is  I  had  dat  all  fixed  up  fur  you  before- 
hand." 

"Well,  now.  Uncle  Billy,  may  I  ask  just  what 
you  mean  by  the  'sanctum  sanctorum'?" 

"Well,  now,  professor,  you  ax  me  a  pretty  hard 
question.  I  don't  know's  I  kin  'zactly  'splain  to 
you  jest  what  I  does  mean  by  dat.  But  de  Lord 
and  me  understands  each  other.  He  knows  jest 
what  I  means.     I  means  dat  I  want  de  good  Lord 

i66 


HERE  AND  THERE  AMONG  MY  FLOCK 

to  send  down  on  you  jest  dc  very  best  He's  got  on 
hand." 

So  interpreted   I   felt   that   the   petition  was  all 
that  could  be  desired  by  any  one. 

When  I  reached  the  Union  Pacific  I  met  a  colored 
porter  named  Shadrach.  He  has  recently  passed 
away,  after  many  years  of  faithful  service  to  the 
Pullman  Company.  He  was  a  great  favorite  with 
the  travelling  public,  and  as  my  official  duties  re- 
quired me  to  be  on  the  road  very  frequently,  we  be- 
came excellent  friends.  One  strong  bond  of  sym- 
pathy between  us  was  the  fact  that  his  w^fe  was  an 
earnest  member  of  my  church,  though  Shad  him- 
self continued  to  be  a  Baptist.  I  felt  that  I  owed 
much  of  the  kindness  he  was  ever  wont  to  show  me 
to  her  influence.  During  the  latter  years  of  her  life 
his  wife  was  frequently  ill,  and  one  could  see  that 
he  was  greatly  troubled  about  her  condition.  She 
was  afflicted  with  epilepsy,  and  was  often  seized 
with  convulsions.  I  used  to  comfort  the  poor  fel- 
low so  far  as  I  was  able.  One  day  when  I  entered 
his  car  I  could  see  from  his  manner  that  he  was 
much  distressed.  As  soon  as  his  duties  permitted 
he  asked  me  to  follow  him  into  the  smoker,  where 
we  could  be  alone.  He  broke  down  completely, 
and,  sobbing,  told  me  his  wife  was  dead. 

"Bishop,  it  was  them  operatic  fits  what  done  it. 
The  doctor  told  me  some  time  ago  that  if  she  had 
any  more  of  them  operatic  attacks  she  would  die." 

Later,  when  I  left  to  take  charge  of  my  Eastern 

167 


MY   PEOPLE   OF   THE    PLAINS 

diocese,  Shad  took  care  of  us  as  far  as  Chicago,  and 
there  bade  us  good-bye  with  much  genuine  feeling. 
It  happened  that  after  spending  a  few  months  in 
central  Pennsylvania  I  again  returned  West  for  the 
summer,  that  I  might  set  in  order  certain  matters 
in  my  own  missionary  field,  and  visit  for  the  last 
time  various  parishes.  Shad  greeted  my  family 
and  myself  on  the  train.  He  knew  I  had  finally 
taken  up  my  abode  in  the  East,  and  was  much 
troubled  and  completely  mystified  by  my  reappear- 
ance. He  had  once  or  twice,  through  the  com- 
plaints of  disgruntled  passengers,  been  laid  off,  and 
narrowly  escaped  being  dismissed.  His  conduct 
towards  me  betrayed  a  certain  sympathetic  tender- 
ness. Not  wishing  to  approach  me  on  a  matter  so 
delicate,  he  sought  out  my  wife,  and  said: 

"You  know,  Mrs.  Talbot,  we  all  think  a  heap  of 
the  bishop  out  here  in  this  Western  country." 

"  I  am  very  glad  to  hear  it,  Shad,"  she  replied. 

"Well,  Mrs.  Talbot,  I  thought  the  bishop  had 
went  to  Pennsylvaney  to  be  bishop." 

"So  he  did,"  she  answered. 

Then  knitting  his  eyebrows  and  looking  much 
troubled,  he  came  to  the  difficult  and  embarrassing 
question. 

"Mrs.  Talbot  has  the  bishop  lost  his  job?" 

He  was  greatly  relieved  when  he  learned  the  true 
situation. 

In  a  new  country  such  as  the  territories  of  Wyo- 
ming and  Idaho  at  that  time,  various  nationalities 

1 68 


HERE  AND  THERE  AMONG  MY  FLOCK 

were  represented.  Coming  fresh  from  Norway, 
Sweden,  or  Italy,  these  foreigners  had  but  a  Hmited 
knowledge  of  our  language,  and  acquired  it  gradu- 
ally from  actual  contact  with  the  people.  It  is  not 
strange,  therefore,  that  the  first  words  they  learned 
were  often  slang  expressions  most  frequently  upon 
the  lips  of  the  uneducated  classes  with  whom  they 
were  thrown  in  contact. 

I  remember  a  Swedish  mother  who  was  greatly 
afflicfed  by  the  sudden  death  from  diphtheria  of 
two  beautiful  children.  She  and  her  husband  had 
been  brought  up  very  devoutly  in  their  native 
country,  and  regarded  the  baptism  of  their  children 
as  a  most  sacred  obligation.  Their  two  yotmgest 
children  had  not  been  baptized,  simply  because 
their  lot  had  been  cast  upon  a  lonely  ranch  far  dis- 
tant from  any  missionary  station,  and  they  had 
never  had  an  opportunity  of  meeting  a  minister. 
Learning  that  I  was  to  make  a  visitation  at  the 
nearest  railroad  station  twenty  miles  distant  from 
their  home,  they  eagerly  availed  themselves  of  the 
chance  to  present  their  little  ones  for  the  holy  rite. 
The  entire  family  came  in  a  wagon,  and  all  were 
present  at  the  service.  When  I  learned  of  their  re- 
cent bereavement,  just  before  the  service,  I  ventured 
to  express  my  sympathy  to  the  poor,  heart-broken 
mother,  and  to  utter  such  words  of  consolation  as 
seemed  fitting.  In  reply  to  every  remark  I  made 
the  poor  woman,  clad  in  deep  mourning,  and  look- 
ing most  distressed,  would  say :  "  You  bet.   You  bet. 

169 


MY   PEOPLE   OF  THE   PLAINS 

"And  now,"  said  I,  "you  have  brought  these 
dear  children  here  to  be  baptized." 

"You  bet,  you  bet,"  she  answered. 

"I  hope  they  may  be  spared  to  you,  and  may 
prove  a  great  comfort  and  blessing." 

"You  bet,  you  bet,"  she  replied. 

Even  the  Indians,  when  they  attempted  to  speak 
English,  were  very  apt  to  bring  in  some  slang  expres- 
sion which  they  innocently  thought  appropriate  and 
fitting.  On  one  occasion  when  old  Black  Coal,  chief 
of  the  Arapahoes,  came  to  call  upon  me,  he  said: 

"Me  damned  glad  to  see  Heap  Sleeve  man,  the 
bishop." 

But  one  of  the  most  amusing  illustrations  of  this 
tendency  was  fiirnished  by  an  Italian.  I  had  held 
service  and  preached  the  night  before  in  our  new 
church  at  Cambria,  Wyoming,  where  a  large  num- 
ber of  Italians  were  employed  in  the  coal-mines. 
Early  the  next  morning  I  took  the  train  for  New 
Castle,  a  few  miles  down  the  cafion.  Soon  after  I 
took  my  seat  a  young  Italian  entered.  He  had 
evidently  been  in  our  country  but  a  short  time,  and 
his  only  associates  had  probably  been  miners, 
whose  language  was  not  always  most  chaste.  He 
quite  surprised  me  when  he  recognized  me  and  said : 

"  Ah,  you  ze  cardinal.  I  hear  you  talk  last  night. 
Damn  pretty  church!  Damn  big  crowd!  Damn 
good  talk!" 

I  nearly  always  found  in  every  chance  acquaint- 
ance on  stage-coach  or  buck-board  some  one  who 

170 


HERE  AND  THERE  AMONG  MY  FLOCK 

interested  me.  Being  compelled  to  ride  nearly 
thirty  miles  in  a  stage  with  an  "old-timer"  who 
had  been  engaged  in  mining  in  Idaho  for  many 
years,  I  foimd  him,  after  he  had  sobered  off,  a  most 
entertaining  companion.  Some  of  his  reminis- 
cences were  rich  and  racy.  He  had  been  the  victim 
of  many  hair-breadth  escapes,  had  been  engaged  in 
several  shooting  affairs,  and,  as  I  afterwards  also 
learned  from  others,  had  killed  in  self-defence  a 
number  of  men.  His  name  would  be  familiar  to 
the  old-time  Idaho  people  were  I  to  mention  it.  I 
was  not  a  little  impressed,  when  we  reached  the  end 
of  our  journey  and  bade  each  other  farewell,  to  hear 
him  say : 

"  Bishop,  we  fellows  are  pretty  rough.  We  have 
seen  some  hard  times  out  here  in  the  mountains, 
and  we  have  not  had  much  chance  to  go  to  church. 
But  deep  down  in  our  hearts  we  mean  all  right. 
Most  of  us  have  had  a  good  mother,  and  we  have 
never  forgotten  w^hat  she  tried  to  teach  us.  I  have 
still  a  little  Bible  I  brought  from  home,  and  no 
money  could  buy  it.  And,  Bishop,  let  me  tell  you 
the  truth  before  God,  I  never  get  in  that  bucket 
to  go  down  in  the  mine  without  just  saying  that 
little  prayer  she  used  to  hear  me  say,  '  Now  I  lay  me 
down  to  sleep.'  If  a  man  will  only  do  what  is  right 
the  Lord  is  not  going  to  be  very  hard  on  him  when 
he  passes  in  his  checks." 


CHAPTER   XII 

A   MONTH    IN'  THE    WOODS 

IT  had  long  been  a  cherished,  hope  that  I  might 
spend  at  least  a  month  in  quest  of  deer,  elk,  and 
bear.  From  the  stage-coach  and  trails  over  the 
mountains  I  had  occasionally  caught  glimpses  of 
fine  specimens  of  big  game,  and  I  knew  of  several 
localities  where  they  could  with  a  little  effort  be 
found. 

The  Hon.  Edward  Ivinson,  of  Laramie,  one  of  my 
good  laymen,  and  a  warm  personal  friend,  had  again 
and  again  implored  me  to  spend  the  month  of  Sep- 
tember in  the  woods  as  his  guest.  At  last  my  op- 
portunity came,  and  the  party  was  made  up.  My 
brother,  the  Rev.  Robert  Talbot,  of  Kansas  City, 
was  invited  to  join  us,  making  in  all  a  company  of 
six,  besides  the  guide,  packers,  and  men  to  look 
after  the  camp.  Nothing  that  could  minister  to 
our  comfort  and  convenience  was  omitted  by  our 
generous  host.  He  was  an  experienced  hunter,  and 
knew  exactly  what  was  needed  on  such  an  outing. 
An  abundance  of  choice  groceries,  canned  goods, 
and  tobacco  was  laid  in,  and,  while  we  were  all  men 
of  temperate  habits,  care  was  taken  to  be  prepared 

172 


A   MONTH   IN   THE   WOODS 

for  such  an  accident  as  a  snake-bite  or  other  emer- 
gency. To  carry  our  necessary  outfit  to  the  foot- 
hills where  we  were  to  pack  our  horses  and  enter 
the  forest,  a  good  strong  covered  wagon  was  taken 
along.  It  was  a  ride  of  about  a  hundred  and 
twenty-five  miles  from  Laramie  across  the  plains 
before  we  reached  the  mountains  of  Routt  County, 
Colorado,  our  objective  point.  But  as  we  were  all 
well  mounted  on  fast  broncos,  that  meant  only  one 
night's  camping  on  the  way.  The  weather  during 
the  entire  month  was  almost  perfect.  We  started 
on  the  30th  of  August  so  as  to  reach  the  hunt- 
ing-grounds in  time  to  avail  ourselves  of  the  pro- 
visions of  the  game  law,  which  set  us  free  September 
I  St.  Before  we  set  out  it  was  distinctly  understood 
and  agreed  to  between  us  that  we  should  not  divert 
our  attention  from  the  big  game  by  any  little  side 
sports,  such  as  shooting  grouse  or  trout-fishing.  My 
brother  rather  regretted  this  contract,  as  his  im- 
agination had  been  set  on  fire  by  the  accounts  I  had 
from  time  to  time  given  him  of  the  Rockies  as  the 
fisherman's  paradise;  but  as  it  was  the  earnest  sug- 
gestion of  our  host  we  proposed  to  abide  by  it  loy- 
ally, no  matter  how  great  the  temptation. 

We  broke  camp  early  on  the  morning  of  August 
31st,  for  our  famous  guide,  Jim  Miller,  was  to  meet 
us  late  that  afternoon  at  a  place  agreed  upon,  and 
conduct  us  to  a  gulch  where  we  were  to  remain  a 
week  or  two.  We  were  all  delighted  to  meet  Jim; 
for  while  some  of  us  had  never  seen  him,  his  repu- 

173 


MY   PEOPLE   OF   THE    PLAINS 

tation  was  so  well  established  that  we  felt  a  certain 
curiosity  to  encounter  the  hero  of  so  many  success- 
ful hunts.  He  was  much  in  demand  by  hunting- 
parties,  and  in  order  to  secure  his  services  one  had 
to  make  a  contract  with  him  at  least  a  year  in  ad- 
vance. Like  all  experts,  he  came  high,  and  could 
command  his  own  price.  While  a  very  quiet  and 
honest  man,  it  was  known  that  he  was  without  fear, 
and  in  ridding  the  country  of  cattle  and  horse 
thieves  he  had  slain  a  number  of  men.  On  several 
occasions  he  had  fallen  into  the  clutches  of  the  law, 
and  had  narrowly  escaped  conviction  at  one  time 
for  murder  in  the  first  degree.  But  the  jury  had 
cleared  him  on  the  theory  that  the  killing  had  been 
in  self-defence.  His  chief  glory  was  that  he  knew 
where  the  big  game  ranged,  and  especially  was  he 
familiar  with  the  habitat  of  the  grizzlies. 

In  the  particular  mountain  where  we  were  to 
spend  a  month,  it  was  currently  reported  that  there 
was  a  famous  old  bruin  who  was  the  terror  of  the 
forest.  Now  and  then  he  would  make  a  descent  on 
some  ranch  at  the  foot  of  the  mountain  and  play 
havoc  in  one  night  with  a  herd  of  cattle.  He  was 
known  by  the  name  of  "Old  Mose,"  and  tradition 
had  it  that  on  more  than  one  occasion  a  hunter 
armed  cap-h-pie  had  met  him  face  to  face  and  had 
fled  in  terror  at  his  very  appearance  without  firing 
a  shot.  Jim  greatly  aroused  our  enthusiasm  for 
the  fray  by  telling  us  he  had  recently  seen  what 
were  undoubtedly  Old   Mose's   footprints,  and   he 

174 


r 
C 

V; 
> 

•y 


B 
K 

D 


a; 

o 
c 

D 


A   MONTH    IN    THE   WOODS 

thought  it  not  unlikely  we  should  succeed  in  getting 
a  shot  at  him. 

The  guide  conducted  us  in  a  few  hours  to  the 
secluded  spot  he  had  chosen  for  our  camp.  It 
would  be  impossible  to  imagine  a  wilder  and  in 
some  respects  a  more  beautiful  situation.  It  was 
near  the  edge  of  a  mountain-stream,  and  one  could 
hear  distinctly  the  music  of  the  rushing  water  as  it 
flung  itself  over  rocks  and  bowlders  on  its  way 
down  the  mountain-side.  An  abundance  of  long 
grass  furnished  excellent  feed  for  our  horses,  while 
on  every  hand  fallen  timber  supplied  material  for 
our  camp-fires.  We  all  went  to  work  with  a  hearty 
good-will  to  put  the  camp  in  order.  Some  of  us 
helped  to  pitch  the  tents,  others  to  carry  logs  and 
prepare  for  a  big  fire,  for  already  the  cool,  crisp  air 
of  the  mountains  made  us  realize  how  important  a 
part  in  the  good  cheer  a  rousing  blaze  would  play. 
Meanwhile,  our  jovial  cook,  a  colored  man,  began  to 
get  in  order  his  culinary  department,  and  it  was  not 
long  before  the  fragrant  odors  of  bacon  and  corn- 
bread  stimulated  still  more  our  appetites  which  the 
long  ride  over  the  mountain-trail  had  made  keen 
enough.  Who  can  describe  the  perfect  relish  of 
that  first  meal  in  the  woods  ?  One  could  not  fail  to 
enjoy  such  a  spread  as  was  set  before  us,  for  not 
only  was  the  food  excellent,  but  the  environment 
was  so  complete. 

Then  we  lighted  our  pipes  around  the  camp-fire, 
and  plied  Jim  with  endless  questions  as  to  when  he 

175 


MY   PEOPLE   OF   THE   PLAINS 

thought  we  should  meet  Old  Mose,  and. just  where 
we  should  aim,  and  whether  we  should  get  any  deer 
or  elk  on  the  morrow.  Then  came  the  big  yarns 
which  regaled  our  ears  from  our  host  down,  imtil 
my  tenderfoot  brother  from  the  effete  East  was 
wild  with  excitement.  Long  before  our  big  camp- 
fire  had  died  down,  some  of  us  began  to  crawl  into 
our  tents,  for  the  order  had  gone  forth  that  at 
break  of  day  we  must  get  our  coffee  and  bacon  and 
set  out  for  game.  We  had  no  doubt  at  all  from  all 
we  could  hear  that  we  should  find  deer  and  elk,  but 
of  course,  our  piece  de  resistance  was  the  bear. 
Jim  did  not  disguise  from  us  his  opinion  that  it 
might  be  a  week  or  more  before  we  could  capture  a 
grizzly. 

His  plan  of  campaign  was  this:  first  of  all  he 
would  kill  an  elk,  or  let  our  host,  Mr.  Ivinson,  who 
was  to  accompany  him,  kill  it.  Then,  having  se- 
cured the  quarters  for  meat  and  the  head  and  horns 
for  glory,  they  would  let  the  carcass  lie  where  it  fell 
to  attract  the  bear.  In  two  or  three  days  the  bear 
would  begin  to  realize  that  some  meat  was  waiting 
for  them,  and  the  dead  elk  would  be  the  rendezvous 
for  the  hunters.  Meanwhile  he  reminded  us  that 
there  were  several  inviting  patches  of  wild  cherries, 
of  which  the  bear  are  very  fond,  and  if  we  ap- 
proached these  warily  there  was  a  prospect  of  get- 
ting a  shot.  Finally,  failing  in  these  two  methods, 
there  was  left,  as  a  last  resort,  the  traps.  Four  of 
these  were  to  be  set  in  different  directions  remote 

176 


A   MONTH   IN   THE   WOODS 

from  each  other.  Secured  to  the  trunk  of  a  tree 
about  six  feet  from  the  ground,  a  chunk  of  elk  meat 
was  to  be  tied.  At  the  foot  of  the  tree  the  trap 
was  to  be  set,  and  leaves  and  twigs  so  strewn  over 
it  that  Mr.  Bruin  should  never  suspect  its  presence. 
Lest  he  might  not  find  the  fragrant  morsel  hanging 
just  beyond  his  reach,  it  was  arranged  that  pieces 
of  elk-meat  at  the  end  of  ropes  tied  to  the  horns  of 
our  saddles  should  be  dragged  circuitously  through 
the  woods,  bringing  up  the  trail  in  each  case  to  the 
tree  where  the  trap  was  set  and  the  bait  hung. 
Moreover,  here  and  there  on  these  trails  a  small  piece 
of  elk  meat  was  to  be  dropped,  so  as  to  encourage 
Mr.  Bruin  in  his  nightly  excursions.  When  some 
one  suggested  that  trapping  was  hardly  sportsman- 
like, Jim  remarked:     . 

"  But,  Mr.  Ivinson,  the  bear  are  very  scarce  these 
days,  and  you  say  this  is  the  bishop's  hunt,  and  he 
must  have  a  bear.     Then  let  us  take  no  chances." 

Early  the  next  morning  we  started  out  to  see 
what  we  could  find.  My  brother's  cup  of  joy  was 
filled  to  overflowing  by  the  great  good  luck  of  being 
the  first  to  bring  down  a  magnificent  buck  with  fine 
antlers,  which  now  adorn  his  study.  The  venison 
thus  secured  was  a  grateful  change  from  bacon,  and 
our  cook  knew  just  how  to  prepare  it.  True  to 
his  prophecy,  that  day  Jim  led  Mr.  Ivinson  into  a 
herd  of  elk,  and  our  host  killed  an  enormous  bull, 
whose  horns  measured  five  feet  across,  and  whose 
colossal  bulk  furnished  enough  meat  for  both  camp 

177 


MY   PEOPLE   OF  THE   PLAINS 

and  bear-traps  for  days  to  come.  That  night  we 
were  all  very  happy.  Several  of  us  had  seen  both 
deer  and  elk,  and  had  had  the  satisfaction  of  at 
least  trying  to  bring  one  down.  Then  our  good 
host,  who  most  deserved  it,  had  laid  low  a  great 
bull,  and  secured  his  head;  and  last,  but  not  least, 
the  tenderfoot  parson  had  ceased  to  be  a  tender- 
foot, and  won  his  spurs  by  dropping  the  first  buck. 

While  the  elk  meat  was  ripening  we  put  in  the 
next  day  hunting  for  big  game.  My  brother  and  I 
surprised  a  large  black  bear  in  a  choke-cherry  patch, 
but  he  saw  us  first,  and  disappeared  in  the  bushes. 
Though  we  could  track  him  for  some  distance 
through  the  quaking-asps,  we  never  overtook  him. 
The  exhilaration  of  the  chase  reminded  us  of  the 
school-boy  debate:  "Resolved,  that  there  is  more 
pleasure  in  the  anticipation  than  in  the  realiza- 
tion." But  neither  of  us  was  quite  ready  to  vote 
in  the  affirmative  of  that  proposition. 

It  was  the  custom  of  the  hunting-party  to  divide 
into  three  groups  of  two  each.  Generally  our  host 
took  Jim  with  him,  and,  as  a  result,  brought  down 
some  game  almost  every  day,  and  kept  the  camp 
supplied.  It  must  be  admitted  that  Mr.  Ivinson 
was  the  best  shot  among  us,  and  therefore  his  suc- 
cess was  by  no  means  entirely  due  to  the  presence 
of  the  guide,  though  occasionally  Jim  would  be  as- 
signed to  some  one  else,  and  that  lucky  man  was 
pretty  sure  to  come  home  victorious. 

Near  the  close  of  the  first  week  one  of  our  party, 

178 


A   MONTH   IN   THE   WOODS 

Judge  Gramm,  killed  a  large  black  bear  near  the 
spot  where  my  brother  and  I  had  seen  and  chased 
one.     Probably  it  was  the  same  bear. 

During  the  next  week  Mr.  Ivinson  had  the  good 
fortune  to  shoot  a  big  cinnamon  bear.  Meanwhile, 
we  were  killing  deer  and  elk  in  abundance.  But  as 
the  game  began  to  be  more  scarce  and  hard  to  find, 
we  concluded  to  move  and  pitch  camp  a  few  miles 
farther  in  the  forest.  There  again  we  set  and 
bated  our  traps,  which  had  thus  far  caught  us 
nothing.  We  had  only  secured  two  bear,  and  felt 
determined  to  get  more.  After  the  traps  were  set 
we  agreed  that  all  of  the  four  should  be  visited  be- 
fore breakfast  each  morning.  It  happened  that 
one  day  it  fell  to  my  lot  to  visit  with  Mr.  Grow  a 
trap  set  deep  down  in  a  thickly  wooded  canon.  It 
was  fully  two  and  a  half  miles  from  the  camp.  As 
we  drew  near  we  heard  a  thunderous  roar,  the  un- 
mistakable growl  and  muttering  of  a  wild  beast  in- 
furiated. We  knew  we  had  caught  a  bear,  and  that 
he  was  maddened  by  his  captivity.  He  had  been 
caught  by  a  hind  foot  as  he  was  jumping  for  the  elk- 
meat,  and  the  trap  was  chained  to  a  movable  log. 
This  was  in  order  to  prevent  him  from  tearing  his 
foot  off  and  escaping.  A  dead  pull  was  thus  avoid- 
ed, and  he  could  haul  the  log  some  distance  until  it 
caught  on  some  obstruction,  when  by  retracing  his 
steps  he  could  carry  it  in  another  direction.  When 
we  first  caught  sight  of  him  he  was  quite  a  distance 
away  and  moving  over  a  considerable  space  of 
13  179 


MY   PEOPLE   OF   THE    PLAINS 

ground.  My  companion  warned  me  to  be  cautious 
and  not  get  too  near.  It  had  been  agreed  that  I 
should  do  the  shooting,  and  the  first  shot  proved 
sufficient.  He  was  a  very  large,  silver-tipped  grizzly, 
and  his  skin,  with  several  others,  has  been  one  of 
my  trophies  ever  since. 

It  is  astonishing  how  rapidly  time  passes  under 
the  spell  of  such  intoxicating  sport.  Before  we 
realized  it  three  weeks  of  our  four  had  gone.  We 
had  been  fairly  successful,  and  had  had  a  royal 
time.  One  day  about  noon  my  brother  and  I  were 
seated  on  a  bowlder  in  the  midst  of  a  beautiful 
stream  eating  our  luncheon.  We  had  just  about 
finished,  and  were  lighting  our  pipes,  when  at  our 
feet  we  suddenly  saw  any  number  of  fine  mountain- 
trout.  They  did  not  seem  to  be  afraid  of  us,  and 
some  of  them  were  unusually  large,  measuring  a  foot 
or  more.  My  brother,  who  had  never  caught  a  trout, 
was  greatly  excited. 

"Oh,"  said  he,  "what  a  shame  we  made  that 
foolish  contract  not  to  catch  any  fish.  What 
would  I  not  give  to  land  some  of  these  speckled 
beauties!" 

Then  it  occurred  to  me  that  in  an  old  pocket- 
book,  which  I  always  carried  with  me,  I  might  find 
a  hook.  I  hastily  examined  it,  and  lo!  there  were 
two  hooks  and  one  line,  but  no  flies.  But  the 
banks.'  of  the  stream  were  alive  with  grasshoppers, 
and  it  was  not  long  before  we  had  rigged  up  two 
willow  poles.     In  less  than  an  hour  we  had  landed 

i8o 


BISHOP    TALBOT 
A  photograph  taken  while  rni  a  hunting  trip 


A   MONTH    IN   THE   WOODS 

two  long  strings  of  as  splendid  specimens  of  trout 
as  were  ever  caught.  Thus  far  our  consciences  had 
not  greatly  disturbed  our  peace  of  mind.  But 
when  we  had  caught  so  many  that  it  seemed  posi- 
tively wrong  to  take  out  any  more,  my  brother  said: 

"Now  what  shall  we  do  with  them?" 

"Do  with  them!"  I  replied.  "I  am  going  to 
take  them  into  camp  and  have  a  mess  for  supper." 

"Well,"  said  my  brother,  "you  are  the  bishop  of 
this  flock,  and  they  cannot  be  very  severe  with  you 
for  this  one  offence.  But  what  will  Mr.  Ivinson 
say?" 

"My  opinion  is,"  I  answered,  "that  Mr.  Ivinson 
is  just  about  as  tired  of  wild  meat  as  the  rest  of  us. 
I'll  risk  all  the  consequences." 

I  shall  never  forget  the  moment  when  we  rode 
into  camp,  each  of  us  holding  up  as  heavy  a  string 
of  trout  as  we  could  comfortably  display.  There 
was,  of  course,  for  the  sake  of  consistency,  a  little 
protest  and  some  surprise  expressed  by  our  host 
that  his  bishop  should  be  the  first  to  violate  the 
agreement.  But  I  soon  secured  my  old  friend's 
gracious  absolution,  and  I  observed  that  no  one 
relished  more  than  he  the  delicious  fish  we  had  for 
supper. 

Now  comes  a  curious  and  interesting  revelation. 
When  once  our  companions  had  tasted  trout,  and 
realized  that  we  were  in  a  fisherman's  paradise, 
nothing  could  restrain  them,  and  whereas  no  one 
was  supposed  to  have  brought   any  fishing-tackle, 

i8i 


MY   PEOPLE   OF   THE   PLAINS 

the  fact  was  soon  made  manifest  that  every  mem- 
ber of  the  party,  save  the  two  imsophisticated 
parsons,  had  come  with  rod  and  line  and  full  equip- 
ment for  fishing!  The  next  morning  we  let  our 
guide  rest,  and  the  camp  was  turned  into  a  fishing- 
party.  Never  in  my  life  have  I  seen  such  an  abun- 
dance of  trout.  We  all  concluded  that  we  were  the 
first  fishermen  that  ever  invaded  that  virgin  forest 
and  cast  a  line  in  that  part  of  the  Snake  River. 

My  official  duties  made  it  necessary  to  say  good- 
bye to  my  friends  a  few  days  before  the  camp 
broke  up,  and,  accompanied  by  my  brother,  to  ride 
back  to  Laramie.  We  again  made  the  hundred  and 
twenty-five  miles  and  more  in  two  days,  for  we  had 
a  pair  of  tough  and  hardy  little  broncos.  The  only 
incident  of  our  homeward  journey  worth  recording 
was  our  experience  at  a  road-station  called  "  Damn- 
fino."  Here  we  were  served  with  a  mysterious, 
nondescript  sort  of  hash  which  was  curiously  sug- 
gestive of  the  name  of  the  place.  We  were  so 
hungry  that  we  ate  the  weird  concoction  without 
asking  any  questions,  though  with  a  terrible  suspi- 
cion which  was  subsequently  more  than  justified. 
About  half  an  hour  after  dinner  an  unmistakable 
odor  almost  drove  us  from  the  place.  We  asked  a 
little  boy,  a  member  of  the  family,  why  they  did 
not  get  rid  of  such  unpleasant  neighbors. 

"Do  you  mean  them  skunks?"  queried  the  lad. 
"Oh,  we  couldn't  get  along  without  them  there. 
We  feed  'em  to  the  fool  tenderfoot  tourists  what 

182 


A   MONTH    IN    THE    WOODS 

don't  know  the  difference  'tween  a  wood-pussy  and 
a  sage-chicken." 

My  brother  rushed  from  the  room,  and  cannot 
even  yet  speak  of  the  episode  without  emotion. 

We  reached  Laramie  about  eight  o'clock  on  the 
evening  of  the  second  day.  My  family  were  in 
Kansas  City,  but  two  young  clergymen  w^ere  sleep- 
ing in  our  house  and  looking  after  the  premises. 
When  we  tried  the  front  door  we  found  ourselves 
locked  out.  This  was  not  surprising,  as  no  one  was 
expecting  us  for  several  days.  I  remembered  that 
one  of  the  front-door  keys  had  been  left  with  a 
neighbor,  so  I  stepped  across  the  street  and  got  it. 
Entering  the  house,  we  went  straight  to  the  dining- 
room,  and,  turning  on  the  electric  lights,  proceeded 
to  search  the  pantry  and  cellar  for  something  to 
eat  and  drink,  for  we  were  very  hungry.  We  did 
not  stop  to  make  any  change  in  our  apparel,  but 
sat  right  down  just  as  we  were  to  enjoy  the  luxury 
of  the  first  meal  at  home  after  a  month  in  the 
woods. 

It  so  happened  that  within  the  last  few  days 
Laramie  had  been  terrorized  by  burglars.  They 
had  entered  a  number  of  houses,  and  their  depre- 
dations were  creating  wide  -  spread  apprehension. 
When  the  two  young  clergymen,  returning  from  a 
call,  drew  near  the  episcopal  residence,  and  saw  the 
lights,  they  went  quietly  to  the  dining-room  win- 
dows and  looked  in.  There  they  beheld  two  rough- 
looking   men,    whose   appearance    thoroughly   con- 

183 


MY   PEOPLE   OF   THE    PLAINS 

firmed  their  suspicions.  Our  beards  of  a  month's 
growth  and  our  hunting-clothes  made  us  entirely- 
unrecognizable.  Immediately  one  of  the  young 
men  hastened  down  to  the  police  station  while  the 
other  kept  watch.  In  a  few  moments  the  house 
was  surrounded  by  armed  men.  At  a  given  signal 
one  of  the  clergymen  rattled  the  front  door,  believ- 
ing the  burglars  had  entered  through  the  kitchen 
and  would  be  peppered  with  shot  as  they  tried  to 
escape  by  that  way.  They  were  surprised  to  hear 
hilarious  voices  within,  and,  on  making  a  second 
attempt  to  frighten  the  burglars,  to  recognize  my 
own  voice  as  I  cried:  "Who's  there?     Come  in." 

Even  when  the  parsons  saw  us  face  to  face  they 
declared  that  nothing  but  our  voices  could  have 
saved  us,  so  completely  had  we  been  transformed 
in  appearance  by  our  month  in  the  woods.  The 
next  day  as  we  went  down  street  to  be  photo- 
graphed, our  best  friends  passed  us  without  any 
sign  of  recognition  or  suspicion  as  to  our  identity, 

I  may  add  in  closing  that  we  never  captured  Old 
Mose,  and  I  suppose  we  ought  to  congratulate  our- 
selves that  Old  Mose  did  not  capture  us. 


CHAPTER   XIII 

TESSY 

IT  is  generally  admitted  now  that  all  men  are  re- 
ligious; that  there  never  was,  and  in  the  very 
nature  of  the  case,  that  there  never  can  be  an  irre- 
ligious human  being.  This,  of  course,  is  very  far 
from  asserting  that  all  men  are  Christians ;  for  there 
are  religions  good,  bad,  and  indifferent.  But  that 
St.  Augustine  made  a  true  generalization  when  he 
said,  "All  men  are  made  for  Thee,  O  Lord,  and 
there  is  no  rest  for  the  soul  till  it  finds  its  rest  in 
Thee,"  can  hardly  be  doubted  by  any  unprejudiced 
student  of  human  nature.  The  appeal  which 
genuine  Christianity  makes  to  the  human  heart  is 
so  wellnigh  irresistible  just  because  it  finds  that 
heart  prepared  by  anticipation  to  receive  its  mes- 
sage. Otherwise,  it  had  long  since  perished  from 
off  the  face  of  the  earth.  No  one,  I  venture  to  say, 
could  have  spent  twelve  years  in  close  contact  with 
the  various  types  of  men  presented  in  Wyoming 
and  Idaho,  when  it  was  my  privilege  to  minister  to 
that  people,  without  taking  a  hopeful  view  of  the 
unlimited  possibilities  of  the  human  soul.  One 
lesson  that  I  learned  was  that  underneath  all  life  of 

185 


MY   PEOPLE    OF   THE    PLAINS 

passion  there  are  spiritual  potentialities  for  the 
meanest;  that  underneath  all  vice  there  is  still 
something  true;  that  deeper  than  the  deepest 
degradation  there  is  still  a  hope  unspeakable  and 
full  of  glory.  The  cow-boy  or  the  miner  has  some- 
times but  little  religion  to  talk  about,  but  he  usu- 
ally responds  nobly  to  an  appeal  to  his  unselfish- 
ness or  generosity  or  courage.  Let  some  misfortune 
befall  a  brother  man,  and  see  how  quickly  he  will 
come  to  the  rescue.  Judged  by  many  of  the  out- 
ward or  conventional  standards,  I  admit  he  falls 
very  far  short;  but  when  you  come  to  put  him  to 
the  test  of  real  fraternity,  and  measure  him  by  the 
spirit  of  disinterested  service  to  his  fellow-man,  he 
will  often  surprise  you.  Indeed,  he  is  not  to  be 
blamed  for  his  carelessness  about  church-going,  as 
there  is  frequently  no  church  for  him  to  attend. 
Think  of  the  spiritual  destitution  which  prevails  in 
the  far-off  mining-camp.  Try  to  picture  to  your- 
self the  life  of  a  cow-boy  on  the  plains  thirty  years 
ago.  Realize,  if  you  can,  the  abject  loneliness  of  a 
sheep-herder  amid  the  sage-brush,  spending  days 
and  nights  for  months  without  converse  with  a 
human  being.  Under  such  conditions  of  spiritual 
famine  one  cannot  be  surprised  to  find  instances 
here  and  there  where,  with  many  good  traits,  men 
are  lacking  in  those  finer  qualities  of  moral  dis- 
crimination which,  after  all,  are  the  products  of 
careful  home  training  and  education. 

Tessy  Holstein  was  such  a  man.     If  his  story  has 

i86 


TESSY 

its  amusing  side,  I  beg  the  reader  not  to  lose  sight 
of  the  infinite  pathos  which  brings  him  to  our 
notice  and  fairly  entitles  him  to  some  charitable 
consideration  in  view  of  a  situation  too  dark  to  con- 
template. Tessy  was  a  miner.  He  had  a  promis- 
ing claim  in  the  mountains  about  twenty-five  miles 
from  a  certain  town  in  northern  Idaho.  He  was  a 
German  by  birth,  but  left  his  native  land  and 
crossed  the  Atlantic  while  yet  a  youth.  The  spirit 
of  adventure  led  him  into  the  Far  West,  where 
stories  of  marvellous  discoveries  of  gold  were  filling 
the  world  with  wonder.  Again  and  again  in  his 
eventful  life  he  had  a  fortune,  as  he  thought,  almost 
within  his  grasp,  when  all  at  once  his  hopes  would 
be  dashed.  At  the  time  I  first  heard  of  him  he  was 
taking  out  some  good  high-grade  ore,  and  more 
than  making  wages. 

Early  one  morning  in  December  he  started  to 
town  to  lay  in  some  provisions.  The  sun  was  shin- 
ing brightly,  and  there  was  every  promise  of  one  of 
those  fine,  warm  days  which  are  not  uncommon  in 
the  early  winter  of  the  Rocky  Mountain  region. 
But  it  is  also  characteristic  of  that  locality  that 
some  of  the  worst  snow-storms  come  at  that  time, 
and  entirely  without  warning.  The  miner  was 
afoot,  and  had  not  proceeded  far  on  his  way  before 
he  was  caught  in  such  a  blizzard.  It  was  one  of 
those  blinding  storms  when  it  is  impossible  to  see 
one's  way,  and  the  thermometer  drops  suddenly  to 
many  degrees  below  zero.     All  through  that  coun- 

187 


MY   PEOPLE   OF   THE   PLAINS 

try  one  hears  tragic  stories  of  men  perishing  within 
a  few  steps  of  their  homes,  bHnded  by  the  fury  of 
the  gale  and  overcome  by  the  cold.  It  is  the  cus- 
tom of  the  ranchman  to  have  guide-ropes  leading 
from  his  own  door  to  his  barn,  his  corral,  his  well, 
and  all  the  various  out-buildings,  for  he  knows  he 
may  at  any  time  be  suddenly  overtaken  by  a 
blizzard,  and,  in  that  case,  his  life  would  actually 
be  in  danger  without  these  safeguards,  Tessy  was 
entirely  familiar  with  the  road,  and  had  walked  it 
time  and  again;  but  he  lost  his  way,  and  wandered 
about  helplessly,  often  coming  back  to  the  same 
place  w^here  he  first  left  the  trail.  The  blizzard 
raged  with  unabating  fury  all  that  day  and  late 
into  the  night.  At  last,  overcome  by  long  exposure 
to  the  cold,  faint,  and  weakened  by  hunger,  Tessy 
began  to  feel  sleepy  and  to  realize  that  his  body 
was  becoming  numb  and  that  he  was  freezing.  He 
could  never  recall  when  he  had  fallen,  for  he  lost 
consciousness  suddenly  in  the  embrace  of  that 
sleep  which  is  destined  to  end  in  death. 

The  following  day  dawned  bright  and  clear,  as  is 
often  the  case  after  such  a  storm.  Tessy 's  friends 
in  town  knew  he  was  expected  the  night  before,  and 
were  anxious  about  his  fate  when  he  did  not  put  in 
an  appearance.  Accordingly  they  lost  no  time  in 
organizing  a  search-party,  and  it  was  not  long  be- 
fore the  unfortunate  miner's  body  was  found  under 
a  heap  of  snow  that  had  drifted  about  it.  Brush- 
ing away  the  white  mantle  that  enveloped  him,  the 

i88 


TESSY 

searchers  were  convinced  thai  tlieir  friend  was 
dead;  but  in  response  to  their  loud  calls  and  vigor- 
ous shaking  and  rubbing,  Tessy  manifested  faint 
signs  of  life.  Brandy  and  restoratives  were  ad- 
ministered, and  at  last  he  was  brought  back  to 
consciousness.  They  carried  him  to  town,  and 
placed  him  in  the  little  emergency  hospital  pro- 
vided for  such  cases.  Upon  examination  it  was 
discovered  that  his  arms  and  legs  were  frozen;  but 
with  great  difficulty  and  only  by  means  of  the 
most  skilful  treatment  his  arms  were  saved;  his 
lower  limbs  had  to  be  amputated  close  to  the  body. 
He  was  a  very  vigorous  man  and  in  perfect  health, 
and  in  a  few  months  was  convalescent.  Two  small 
three-legged  stools  used  by  his  strong  arms  and 
hands  had  to  take  the  place  of  legs.  With  these  it 
was  astonishing  how  well  Tessy  could  propel  him- 
self. With  a  little  practice  he  learned  to  move 
about  as  rapidly  as  occasion  demanded,  but  of 
course  his  occupation  as  a  miner  was  at  an  end. 

Even  before  he  had  been  allowed  to  leave  the 
hospital  his  generous  and  sympathetic  friends,  sup- 
ported by  the  whole  community,  had  raised  a  con- 
siderable sum  of  money,  rented  a  small,  vacant 
store-room,  and  furnished  and  supplied  it  as  a 
candy  and  cigar  stand,  where  Tessy  could  make  a 
living.  He  at  once  took  charge,  and  a  little  boy 
who  needed  the  small  wages  which  the  place  afford- 
ed was  employed  to  run  errands  and  help  in  the 
store.     The  grateful  recipient  of  all  this  generosity 

189 


MY   PEOPLE   OF  THE   PLAINS 

displayed  much  artistic  taste  in  decorating  the  little 
room  and  making  it  as  attractive  as  possible.  He 
catered  especially  to  the  hundreds  of  school-chil- 
dren, who  found  Tessy's  shop  an  ideal  place  for 
their  numerous  small  demands.  Then  the  men  felt 
in  honor  bound  to  go  there  for  their  cigars  and 
tobacco.  The  result  was  that  Tessy  began  to  do  a 
lucrative  business.  He  had  a  remarkable  genius 
for  making  and  keeping  his  money.  He  slept  be- 
hind the  counter,  and  prepared  his  meals  on  a  little 
stove  at  the  back  of  the  store.  Hence  he  was  al- 
ways on  hand  to  serve  his  customers.  He  developed 
more  and  more  agility  in  handling  himself.  His 
arms  became  so  strong  that  he  could  pull  himself 
up  without  apparent  effort  to  get  any  object  from 
the  shelves.  He  was  admirably  adapted  to  the 
peculiar  financial  conditions  that  prevailed  in  the 
place  at  that  time.  He  availed  himself  of  the 
high  rate  of  interest  by  loaning  on  good  security 
small  sums  of  money,  and  thus  his  accumulations 
rapidly  increased. 

Years  passed.  Incredible  as  it  may  seem,  Tessy 
was  quoted  in  Bradstreet's  Mercantile  Agency  as 
worth  seventy-five  thousand  dollars.  He  was  highly 
esteemed  in  the  town  as  a  man  of  financial  ability 
and  integrity. 

One  day  the  rumor  went  forth  that  Tessy  had 
purchased  an  eligible  piece  of  ground  on  a  com- 
manding site,  and  had  determined  to  erect  a  fine 
residence.     Before    many    weeks    the    foundations 

190 


TESSY 

were  being  laid,  and  gradually  the  house  on  the  hill 
took  form.  It  proved  to  be  one  of  the  most  im- 
posing and  attractive  homes  in  the  little  town. 
When  it  was  nearing  completion  the  proud  owner 
took  council  with  some  of  the  ladies  of  his  acquaint- 
ance as  to  the  decorations  and  furnishings.  Hand- 
some carpets,  tasteful  wall-paper,  luxurious  up- 
holstery, and  expensive  furniture  were  procured. 
To  add  to  all  this,  the  house  was  heated  throughout 
with  steam  and  lighted  with  electricity. 

By  this  time  people  began  to  wonder  and  specu- 
late. "What  does  Tessy  mean?  Surely  he  is  not 
thinking  of  getting  married."  But  no  other  theory 
could  account  for  all  this  lavish  expenditure.  At 
last,  after  much  conjecture  and  questioning  on  the 
part  of  his  friends,  Tessy  frankly  admitted  that  he 
was  looking  for  a  wife.  It  leaked  out  that  in  his 
emergency  he  had  consulted  some  one  who  advised 
him  that  the  best  way  to  get  a  good  wife  was  to 
send  for  a  copy  of  the  Heart  and  Hand,  a  magazine 
published  by  a  Chicago  matrimonial  bureau.  He 
was  told  that  many  of  the  lonely  bachelors  in  the 
Far  West,  where  ladies  are  so  scarce,  had  by  this 
plan  drawn  rare  prizes.  In  fact,  it  was  well  known 
that  there  were  a  number  of  wives  in  that  com- 
munity who  had  been  acquired  in  that  way,  and 
who  had  proved  entirely  satisfactory.  Accordingly, 
he  had  sent  for  a  copy  of  this  wonderful  publica- 
tion. When  it  came  he  was  delighted.  On  its 
pages,  in  rich  profusion,  he  could  gaze  upon  the 

191 


MY   PEOPLE    OF   THE    PLAINS 

faces  of  a  great  variety  of  fair  women  from  whom 
to  choose.  There  he  saw  illustrations  depicting 
maidens  and  widows,  blondes  and  brunettes,  young 
and  old.  It  was  really  embarrassing  to  make  a 
selection  when  all  seemed  to  him  so  charming  and 
attractive.  At  last,  however,  he  was  especially 
pleased  with  the  picture  of  a  widow  of  about  forty. 
He  flattered  himself  that  he  was  a  judge  of  char- 
acter, and  he  thought  he  could  discern  in  the  per- 
sonal charms  of  this  fair  creature  just  the  charac- 
teristics sure  to  make  him  forever  happy. 

Under  each  picture  there  was  a  little  description 
which  assisted  his  imagination  to  complete  the  ideal 
he  might  form.  Then,  best  of  all,  there  was  the 
address;  so,  having  made  his  selection,  he  lost  no 
time  in  writing  the  object  of  his  choice.  He  told 
her  of  his  great  loneliness,  and  of  his  longing  for  a 
congenial  companion  to  share  his  future  life;  he 
said  that  he  had  been  reasonably  successful  in  busi- 
ness; that  he  possessed  a  comfortable  home,  neatly 
furnished  and  ready  to  receive  her ;  that  she  need  not 
take  his  word  for  his  financial  standing,  but  could 
consult  any  banker  in  Chicago,  where  she  would  learn 
that  he  was  quoted  in  Bradstreet  as  worth  seventy- 
five  thousand  dollars;  that  he  did  not  owe  a  dollar 
in  the  world.  Finally,  to  clinch  the  argument,  he  en- 
closed one  of  his  photographs,  and  intimated  that 
he  would  be  much  gratified  to  receive  one  of  hers 
in  return.  In  due  course  of  mail  he  was  made 
happy  by  the  arrival  of  an  entirely  satisfactory  re- 

192 


TESSY 

ply,  and  with  it  a  photograph  from  which  it  seemed 
to  him  that  the  engraving  in  the  Heart  and  Hand 
had  not  revealed  one  tithe  of  the  fascination  of  the 
original.  She  expressed  herself  as  delighted  with 
his  letter  and  his  photograph,  and  said  she  was  dis- 
posed to  consider  favorably  his  proposition;  that 
she,  too,  was  alone  in  the  world,  and  without  means, 
and  that  the  prospect  of  such  a  home  as  she  was 
confident  he  could  give  her  appealed  to  her  strongly. 

Tessy  sent  her  a  generous  draft  to  provide  for  her 
trousseau  and  purchase  her  railroad  transportation 
to  his  home.  He  went  fully  into  detail  as  to  the 
route,  and  made  it  clear  to  her  that  on  reaching 
the  terminus  of  a  certain  railroad  she  was  to  take  a 
boat  which  w^ould  bring  her  at  about  seven  o'clock 
in  the  evening  to  her  destination.  He  told  her  he 
would,  of  course,  meet  her  on  the  arrival  of  the 
boat,  and,  to  make  her  feel  more  at  home,  would 
have  some  of  his  friends  among  the  ladies  and  also 
the  clergyman  w^ho  was  to  perform  the  ceremony 
accompany  him  to  the  landing. 

Fortunately,  all  turned  out  just  as  Tessy  had 
planned.  The  boat  arrived  on  scheduled  time. 
The  expectant  bridegroom,  seated  in  a  handsome 
new  carriage  and  driving  a  spirited  team  of  bays, 
was  promptly  on  hand.  As  the  horses  were  some- 
what nervous,  Tessy,  protected  from  the  chill 
evening  air  by  a  comfortable  lap-robe,  thought  it 
best  to  remain  in  the  carriage,  while  the  clergyman 
and  the  ladies  went  down  to  the  boat  to  welcome 

193 


MY   PEOPLE    OF   THE   PLAINS 

the  bride-elect.  She  was  there,  radiant  with  smiles 
and  eager  with  expectation.  The  ladies  accorded 
her  a  gracious  welcome,  and  the  rector  looked  after 
her  baggage,  giving  directions  that  it  should  be  de- 
livered without  loss  of  time  at  her  new  home,  for 
the  wedding  was  to  take  place  immediately.  The 
party  then  ascended  the  hill  to  the  carriage,  "where 
Tessy  greeted  his  future  bride  with  gracious  cordi- 
ality. He  delicately  apologized  for  not  going  down 
to  the  boat,  telling  her  that  his  horses  were  restless, 
and  asked  the  clergyman  to  assist  the  ladies  into  the 
carriage  and  get  in  himself. 

So  far,  all  had  gone  as  smoothly  as  possible.  Of 
course,  the  clergyman  and  the  two  ladies  never  so 
much  as  dreamed  that  Tessy  had  not  acquainted 
the  Chicago  widow  with  the  story  of  his  physical 
misfortune.  But,  as  a  matter  of  fact,  all  the 
knowledge  the  unfortunate  woman  had  gained  of 
his  appearance  had  been  gathered  from  the  photo- 
graph he  had  sent  her,  and  it  was  not  taken  at  full 
length.  Hence,  everybody  was  happy  but  Tessy 
himself.  Every  step  the  horses  took  towards  home 
added  to  his  feeling  of  awful  apprehension.  He 
realized  that  the  time  was  now  at  hand  when  the 
whole  truth  must  be  revealed.  What  would  hap- 
pen? How  would  she  take  it?  But  at  last  he 
drew  up  in  front  of  his  brightly  illuminated  house. 
A  servant  was  in  readiness  to  take  charge  of  the 
horses  and  another  to  assist  them  from  the  carriage 
to  the  house.     Poor  Tessy,  with  greater  nimbleness 

194 


TESSY 

and  agility  than  he  had  ever  displayed  before  in  his 
life,  began  to  climb  down  the  front  wheel,  and  was 
ready  to  receive  the  bridal  party.  As  the  widow 
alighted,  her  eyes  fell  on  Tessy.  Then  all  the  pent- 
up  feelings  of  her  nature  found  vent  in  one  great, 
prolonged  sulphurous  explosion  of  wrath  and  in- 
dignation. The  clergyman  assured  me  that  he 
never  in  all  his  life  heard  such  language  as  poured 
forth  from  the  lips  of  that  justly  furious  woman. 
He  said  he  actually  feared  that  in  her  unbridled 
rage  she  wotild  literally  leap  at  Tessy  and  utterly 
annihilate  him.  Meanwhile,  the  clergyman  and 
ladies  gradually  learned  for  the  first  time  that  the 
woman  had  been  grossly  deceived.  They  could 
hardly  believe  it,  so  utterly  different  was  such  con- 
duct from  their  long-cherished  opinion  of  their  old 
friend  as  a  man  of  honor.  They  openly  rebuked 
him;  told  him  they  were  ashamed  of  him,  and  had 
they  known  he  had  withheld  from  her  the  knowl- 
edge to  which  for  every  reason  she  w^as  entitled, 
they  would  have  taken  no  part  in  the  disgraceful 
affair.  At  the  same  time  they  assured  her  of  their 
sympathy.  At  last,  through  sheer  exhaustion,  the 
widow  calmed  down.  The  ladies  gently  expostu- 
lated with  her,  told  her  they  would  not  desert  her; 
that,  as  Tessy  had  so  wickedly  deceived  her,  she 
was  under  no  obligation  to  him  whatsoever;  but 
they  also  added  that,  bad  as  Tessy  seemed  in  this 
one  instance,  he  was  really  a  kind  -  hearted,  good 
man,  and  stood  high  in  the  community.  They 
»4  195 


MY   PEOPLE   OF   THE    PLAINS 

pledged  her  their  support  to  the  end,  and  guar- 
anteed that  Tessy  would  pay  her  way  back  to 
Chicago. 

"But,"  said  one  of  them,  "you  are  very  tired 
after  your  long  journey.  Come  into  the  house. 
You  will  find  a  warm  supper  prepared  for  you,  and 
you  can  rest  and  refresh  yourself.  Then  w^e  will  go 
down  with  you  to  the  hotel,  and  secure  you  com- 
fortable quarters  until  you  are  ready  to  return 
East." 

Their  kindly  and  sympathetic  councils  prevailed, 
and  she  accompanied  them  into  the  house.  Gradu- 
ally a  peace  conference  was  brought  about.  Tessy 
was  evidently  ready  not  only  to  surrender  fully  all 
territory  demanded,  but  to  make  good  any  in- 
demnity she  might  ask.  The  charm  and  comfort 
of  the  pretty  new  house  also  had  its  effect.  Who 
can  wonder  that,  before  the  evening  was  over,  un- 
der the  healing  influences  of  her  environment  and 
the  eloquent  appeals  of  Tessy,  the  feminine  sus- 
ceptibility of  the  woman's  nature  was  prevailed 
upon,  and  the  wedding  followed.  Congratulations 
poured  in  from  every  side,  and  though  he  could 
always  bear  witness  that  for  one  tumultuous  hour 
at  least  the  course  of  true  love  had  not  run  smooth, 
Tessy  was  supremely  happy. 


CHAPTER   XIV 

MAKING   THE    WORK    KNOWN 

A  MISSIONARY  bishop  is  so  called  because  he 
is  sent  out  by  the  whole  church  as  her  repre- 
sentative. The  church  at  home  undertakes  not 
only  to  support  the  bishop  himself,  but  also  to  pro- 
vide at  least  in  part  the  means  necessary  to  maintain 
a  staff  of  missionary  clergy  to  assist  him  in  the  work 
of  evangelization.  The  conditions  which  prevail  in 
a  newly  settled  coimtry  to  which  a  domestic  mis- 
sionary bishop  is  assigned  are  such  that  his  own 
scattered  flock,  poor  and  unorganized,  can  at  first 
contribute  but  little  towards  the  maintenance  of 
the  ecclesiastical  establishment.  This  was  espe- 
cially true  in  the  case  of  the  sparsely  populated 
missionary  district  of  Wyoming  and  Idaho  twenty 
years  ago.  Indeed,  it  may  generally  be  assumed 
that  people  who  leave  their  homes,  and  as  pioneers 
endure  the  hardships  and  privations  incident  to 
frontier  life,  are  without  money.  The  motive  that 
induces  them  to  make  such  sacrifices  is  that  of 
necessity.  They  desire  to  improve  their  condition 
by  taking  advantage  of  the  opportunities  which 
present  themselves  in  a  new  country.     Young  men 

197 


MY   PEOPLE    OF   THE    PLAINS 

in  whom  there  is  a  strong  spirit  of  adventure,  and 
who  are  without  family  ties,  are  likely  to  form  a 
large  contingent  of  the  population.  As  years  go  by, 
homes  are  established,  towns  and  villages  are  built, 
and  the  various  communities  gradually  become  able 
to  support  their  own  churches.  But  in  the  more 
primitive  and  formative  period  of  their  history,  un- 
less the  mother-church  at  home  follows  her  children, 
keeps  in  touch  with  them,  and  supplies  them  with 
Christian  privileges,  spiritual  neglect  must  inevita- 
bly ensue. 

Again,  when  the  missionary  bishop  is  sent  out  it 
is  imderstood  that  he  goes  as  the  chief  missionary 
of  the  flock.  He  may,  indeed,  be  the  only  clergy- 
man whom  the  people  see  from  year  to  year.  But 
the  time  comes  when  growth  and  development  be- 
gin. 'New  railroads  are  being  built,  new  mines  are 
discovered,  and  thousands  of  people  are  flocking  in 
to  seek  homes  where  all  is  so  full  of  life  and  promise. 
It  is  the  church's  obvious  duty  to  be  so  equipped 
as  to  meet  the  people  as  they  come  and  enlist  them 
in  Christian  service.  Churches,  schools,  and  hos- 
pitals must  be  provided,  the  clergy  must  be  sup- 
ported, and  there  is  no  time  to  be  lost.  It  is  at 
such  a  crisis  of  material  growth  and  activity  that 
the  missionary  bishop  feels  the  need  of  help  from 
the  church  at  home.  Unless  opportunities  are 
seized  at  once  they  will  be  lost  perhaps  forever. 
It  devolves  upon  him  to  make  the  situation  known, 
and  to  induce  those  who  have  means  to  help  him. 

198 


r. 
> 

s 

K 
D 
SO 
> 

r 


MAKING   THE   WORK   KNOWN 

Occasions  when  he  may  bring  his  work  and  its 
needs  before  the  church  are  frequently  given  him. 
The  columns  of  the  church  papers  are  gladly  placed 
at  his  disposal.  Missionary  conferences  held  every 
year  in  different  parts  of  the  country  always  wel- 
come the  presence  of  the  missionary  bishop  or  his 
representative  fresh  from  the  field.  Once  in  every 
three  years  the  general  convention,  calling  together 
hundreds  of  delegates  from  all  parts  of  the  church, 
meets  to  consider  as  its  chief  concern  the  progress 
of  the  Gospel  throughout  the  world.  Then,  when 
any  pressing  need  seems  to  make  it  imperative,  the 
bishop  sends  a  personal  appeal  to  individuals  and 
churches  for  relief.  Thus,  in  my  own  experience, 
the  cathedral  at  Laramie,  where  the  Wyoming 
University  is  located,  the  Shoshone  Indian  School, 
St.  Margaret's  school  for  girls,  Boise,  Idaho,  and 
between  thirty  and  forty  churches  were  made  pos- 
sible. Of  course,  it  is  most  important  that  the  peo- 
ple in  the  missionary  field  should  develop  the  spirit 
of  self-help,  and  that  no  outside  assistance  should 
be  given  until  a  liberal  and  self-sacrificing  devotion 
is  evinced.  Otherwise,  there  is  danger  of  pauperiz- 
ing the  recipients  and  paralyzing  the  spiritual  en- 
ergy of  the  people.  But  I  always  found  that  if  my 
own  people  out  of  their  poverty  gave  generously, 
there  was  a  corresponding  readiness  on  the  part  of 
churchmen  in  the  older  and  more  wealthy  com- 
munities to  show  practical  sympathy. 

It  was  my  good  fortune  to  make  in  the  prosecution 

199 


MY   PEOPLE   OF  THE   PLAINS 

of  my  work  a  number  of  friends  on  whom  I  could  de- 
pend regularly  for  various  sums  ranging  from  one 
hundred  dollars  to  three  thousand  dollars  a  year. 
Among  these  were  such  noble  laymen  as  Messrs. 
Harold  and  John  Nicholas  Brown,  of  Providence; 
Messrs.  Lemuel  Coffin  and  H.  H.  Houston,  of  Phila- 
delphia, and  others.  Then  of  faithful  women  there 
were  not  a  few  who  gave  year  by  year  most  gener- 
ously. The  loyal  confidence  thus  expressed  enabled 
me  to  build  up  a  constituency  of  supporters  on  whom 
I  could  always  rely.  There  are  still  living  those — 
men  and  women— who  held  up  my  hands  with  lov- 
ing loyalty  all  through  these  anxious  years,  and  if  I 
were  permitted  to  mention  their  names  they  would 
be  recognized  as  large  -  hearted  and  consecrated 
givers,  to  whom  such  service  for  the  Master  always 
seems  a  sacred  privilege  which  they  exercise  with 
wise  discrimination  and  the  utmost  conscientious- 
ness. Then  within  the  limits  of  my  missionary  dis- 
trict was  a  constantly  growing  number  of  my  own 
people,  who  gave  of  their  money  and  their  time.  I 
was  especially  fortunate  in  having  in  various  parts 
of  the  diocese  young  women  who  had  been  well 
trained  for  Christian  service  in  St.  Margaret's,  our 
school  for  girls  in  Boise,  Idaho.  For  this  great 
blessing  I  was  largely  indebted  to  Miss  Frances  M. 
Buchan,  the  principal,  who  launched  the  insti- 
tution from  its  very  beginning  into  an  atmos- 
phere of  missionary  zeal,  and  inspired  the  girls 
with  a  strong  desire  to  carry  the  church  and  its 

200 


MAKING  THE   WORK   KNOWN 

refining  influences   into   their  respective  communi- 
ties. 

During  the  greater  part  of  my  episcopate  in 
Wyoming  and  Idaho  I  owed  much  to  the  munifi- 
cence of  an  English  churchman  who  lived  in  Lon- 
don. I  met  him  by  chance  in  Boise,  where  he  was 
visiting  a  friend.  I  have  rarely  known  a  more 
godly  man.  To  him  religion  was  the  great  concern 
of  life,  and  the  church,  which  embodied  in  his  mind 
the  religion  of  the  Master,  received  the  unstinted 
homage  of  his  heart.  While  a  very  successful  busi- 
ness man,  it  was  evident  that  his  chief  motive  for 
making  money  was  to  have  the  joy  of  bestowing  it 
where  it  could  be  of  the  greatest  service  to  his  fel- 
low-man. It  was  not  necessary  for  me  to  ask  him 
for  money.  He  was  constantly  writing  me  to  as- 
certain my  plans  and  to  inform  me  that  at  such  a 
time  in  the  near  future  he  would  be  glad  to  send 
me  a  draft  for  some  specified  amount  provided  I 
had  an  object  which  I  deemed  important  to  ac- 
complish. He  was  greatly  interested  in  the  build- 
ing of  the  cathedral  at  Laramie,  and  from  time  to 
time  made  large  contributions  towards  its  comple- 
tion. During  the  latter  part  of  his  life  I  was  his 
guest  for  several  days  at  his  quiet  home  in  London. 
In  several  instances  when  I  was  confronted  with 
anxious  financial  problems  and  needed  assistance  in 
carrying  out  certain  important  plans,  his  check 
would  unexpectedly  come  quite  unsolicited,  bringing 
me  almost  the  exact  amount  I  required.     If  this 

20I 


MY   PEOPLE    OF   THE   PLAINS 

had  occurred  only  once  I  should  have  thought  but 
little  of  it,  but,  happening  again  and  again,  I  could 
not  but  regard  it  as  a  direct  answer  to  my  prayers. 
On  two  occasions  during  my  Western  episcopate 
I  went  to  England  to  attend  great  missionary 
gatherings.  In  1894  there  was  at  St.  James's  Hall, 
London,  a  meeting  in  the  interest  of  foreign  evan- 
gelization which  brought  together  not  only  a  large 
representation  of  the  bishops  in  England,  but  many 
from  the  colonies  and  distant  sees  wherever  the 
Anglican  communion  had  planted  itself.  At  the 
opening  meeting  Archbishop  Benson,  who  then  oc- 
cupied the  throne  of  Canterbury,  presided.  His 
kindness  to  me  I  shall  never  forget.  Of  course,  I 
realized  that  it  was  inspired  by  a  strong  desire  on 
the  part  of  his  grace  to  do  honor  to  a  bishop,  how- 
ever unknown,  who  came  from  America.  While  he 
was  in  residence  at  the  palace  at  Addington  Park 
he  invited  me  to  visit  him.  When  I  reached  his 
home,  Mrs.  Benson  received  me,  as  the  Archbishop 
was  riding  horseback,  a  diversion  in  which  he  was 
wont  to  indulge  morning  and  evening  whenever  his 
busy  life  permitted.  Of  Mrs.  Benson,  Mr.  Glad- 
stone is  said  to  have  remarked  that  she  was  the 
cleverest  woman  in  England.  She  certainly  pos- 
sessed a  rare  grace  of  manner  which  immediately 
set  one  at  ease.  In  making  me  at  home  she  tact- 
fully directed  the  conversation  to  subjects  con- 
nected with  Wyoming  and  Idaho,  with  which  she 
naturally  assumed  some  familiarity  on  my  part.     I 

202 


MAKING   THE   WORK   KNOWN 

was  impressed  by  the  range  and  comprehensiveness 
of  her  leading  questions.  Matters  in  which  women 
generally  take  little  or  no  interest  appealed  to  her. 
By  the  time  we  had  talked  for  an  hour  or  two, 
while  afternoon  tea  was  being  served,  I  felt  that 
Mrs.  Benson  could  pass  as  good  an  examination  on 
the  agricultural,  mineral,  stock  -  growing,  political 
and  social  features  of  the  new  West  as  I  could  my- 
self, including  the  experiment  of  woman's  suffrage. 
So  fully  was  I  convinced  of  this  that,  after  the  Arch- 
bishop joined  us  and  began  in  his  kindly  way  to 
seek  information  about  my  part  of  the  world,  I  told 
him  that  if  after  I  had  gone  he  should  discover  that 
he  had  forgotten  any  point  of  interest  I  was  sure 
Mrs.  Benson  could  fully  enlighten  him. 

After  dinner  that  evening,  an  hour  or  two  was 
spent  in  conversation  in  the  library,  and  then 
prayers  were  said  in  the  chapel.  About  ten  o'clock 
the  ladies  withdrew,  leaving  me  alone  with  the 
Archbishop.  I  knew  he  was  a  busy  man,  with  many 
cares  of  church  and  state  weighing  upon  him,  and  a 
large  official  correspondence  demanding  his  atten- 
tion; besides  which,  I  was  aware  that  he  was  then 
engaged  in  writing  his  great  work  upon  the  life  of 
St.  Cyprian.  Hence,  feeling  a  delicacy  about  de- 
taining him  longer  from  his  duties,  I  arose  and  ex- 
tended my  hand  to  bid  him  good -night.  He 
begged  me  to  sit  longer,  but  when  I  insisted  on 
withdrawing,  suggested  that  I  join  his  two  chap- 
lains in  their  office  where  they  were  just  finishing 

203 


MY   PEOPLE   OF   THE    PLAINS 

his  correspondence.  He  added  that  the  young  men 
would  have  much  to  ask  me  about  America,  and 
that  he  would  call  for  me  later.  I  found  these  uni- 
versity graduates  very  agreeable,  and  the  time 
passed  pleasantly.  When  I  thought  the  hour  had 
arrived  when  his  grace  should  be  calling  for  me  I 
glanced  at  my  watch,  and  was  somewhat  startled 
to  fiad  it  about  midnight. 

"Oh,"  said  one  of  the  chaplains,  "please  con- 
tinue. His  grace  will  knock  at  our  door  at  two 
o'clock." 

"Two!"  I  exclaimed.  "Does  he  expect  me  to  sit 
here  until  two  o'clock?" 

"Certainly,"  w^as  the  answer.  "He  never  retires 
until  that  hour." 

Promptly  at  two  the  Archbishop  appeared, 
candle  in  hand,  and  conducted  me  to  my  room. 
As  we  walked  through  the  long  corridor  of  the 
palace  I  ventured  to  express  some  surprise  at  the 
late  hour.  He  then  told  me  that  he  always  retired 
at  2  A.M.  and  arose  at  seven,  and  took  a  ride  before 
breakfast.  As  we  entered  my  quiet  bedroom  he 
remarked : 

"  It  may  interest  you  to  know  that  you  will  oc- 
cupy to-night  the  bed  on  which  the  great  Thomas 
Arnold  slept  at  Rugby,  and  on  which  he  passed  away. " 

The  next  morning  his  grace  pointed  out  to  me 
with  evident  interest  the  tree  under  which  our  be- 
loved Presiding  Bishop  Williams  of  Connecticut, 
stretched  himself,  and  delighted  them  all  with  his 

204 


MAKING   THE   WORK   KNOWN 

charming  American  stories.  I  shall  always  cherish 
the  memory  of  that  visit  with  peculiar  pleasure.  It 
was  a  privilege  to  know  this  truly  great  and  lovable 
prelate  in  the  privacy  of  his  own  home.  He  took 
the  liveliest  interest  in  our  American  institutions, 
and  entertained  a  genuine  admiration  for  our  peo- 
ple. He  was  a  favorite  of  Mr.  Gladstone,  who, 
when  prime  -  minister,  had  nominated  him  to  his 
high  office,  and  it  will  be  remembered  that  his 
lamented  death  occurred  when  he  was  visiting  the 
great  statesman  at  Hawarden  Castle. 

A  few  years  later,  when  on  my  way  to  the  Lam- 
beth conference,  I  called  with  three  other  bishops 
on  Mr.  Gladstone  himself,  driving  out  from  Chester. 
He  had  been  ill,  and  when  we  presented  our  cards 
at  the  door  the  servant  said  he  feared  Mr.  Glad- 
stone could  not  see  us,  as  he  had  been  denying  him- 
self to  all  callers  of  late.  But  when  he  discovered, 
as  he  afterwards  told  us,  that  we  were  American 
bishops,  he  came  down  without  delay.  We  asked 
one  of  our  number,  the  Lord  Bishop  of  Niagara,  as 
a  British  subject,  to  present  us.  When  Mr.  Glad- 
stone heard  the  title.  Bishop  of  Wyoming,  he  mani- 
fested quite  an  interest. 

"I  am  glad  you  call  it  Wyoming,"  he  said.  "I 
like  to  hear  the  full  vocal  sound.  We  had  a  poet 
about  forty  years  ago,  Mr.  Thomas  Campbell,  who 
wrote  'Gertrude  of  Wyoming.'  To  scan  the  metre 
one  had  to  accent  the  antepenult  and  say  Wyoming. 
I  never  liked  that." 

205 


MY   PEOPLE   OF   THE    PLAINS 

Then  the  Grand  Old  Man  launched  forth  and 
asked  me  many  questions.  At  that  time  his  hear- 
ing was  seriously  impaired,  and  I  have  always 
thought  that  the  mere  accident  of  sitting  near  him 
and  answ^ering  his  questions  distinctly  explained 
the  fact  that  he  honored  my  diocese  and  myself 
with  so  much  of  his  time  and  interest.  Or  perhaps 
this  may  have  been  due  to  the  resemblance  which 
he  fancied  he  saw,  and  which  seemed  to  hold  his  at- 
tention and  startle  him,  between  myself  and  a  "very 
dear  university  friend,  young  Selwyn,"  the  great 
missionary  bishop.  He  was  particularly  curious 
about  the  question  of  woman's  suffrage  as  adopted 
in  Wyoming  and  Idaho,  and  also  evinced  a  surpris- 
ing familiarity  with  our  leading  industries.  Our 
visit  w^as  not  a  protracted  one,  but  nothing  could 
have  exceeded  the  graciousness  and  cordiality  of 
Mr.  Gladstone  towards  us.  My  good  and  genial 
brother,  Dr.  Kinsolving,  the  Bishop  of  Texas,  fa- 
cetiously remarked  as  we  were  leaving  the  castle : 

"Well,  Wyoming,  if  the  Grand  Old  Man  had  only 
known  what  a  desert  you  have  to  preside  over,  and 
could  once  see  your  sage-brush  and  bowlders  and 
jack-rabbits  and  coyotes,  he  would  not  have  wasted 
so  much  time  in  asking  about  your  country.  Why, 
he  didn't  have  a  word  to  say  about  the  great  State 
of  Texas,  a  mighty  empire  in  itself." 

It  was  during  this  same  sojourn  in  England  while 
we  were  attending  the  Lambeth  conference  that  all 
the   bishops  were   invited  by  her   Majesty,   Queen 

206 


MAKING   THE    WORK    KNOWN 

Victoria,  to  meet  her  at  Windsor  Castle.  The  Arch- 
bishop of  Canterbury,  at  that  time  Dr.  Temple,  who 
extended  the  invitation  on  behalf  of  the  Queen,  re- 
minded us  that  as  her  Majesty  was  rather  feeble 
and  could  not  comfortably  stand  so  long,  she  would 
receive  us  from  her  carriage,  and  while  she  would 
be  glad  to  shake  hands  with  all  of  us,  he  thought 
she  had  better  be  spared  so  great  an  effort,  as  there 
were  about  two  hundred  bishops.  He  therefore 
suggested  that  only  the  archbishops  and  metro- 
politans and  higher  dignitaries  of  the  various 
national  churches  be  formally  presented.  At  the 
appointed  hour,  as  the  bishops  were  grouped  under 
a  large  tree  in  the  garden  of  Windsor  Castle,  the 
royal  carriage  containing  the  Queen  and  some 
members  of  her  family  approached.  The  bishops 
gathered  around  so  that  we  could  hear  and  see  dis- 
tinctly. After  the  presentation  of  a  few  of  the  old- 
er dignitaries  the  Queen  noticed  two  African  bish- 
ops, and  asked  that  they  should  be  presented.  Of 
course,  our  colored  brethren  were  greatly  honored, 
and  I  remember  that  the  Bishop  of  Kentucky,  Dr. 
Dudley,  himself  a  Southerner,  remarked  to  those  of 
us  standing  near  him: 

"  Brethren,  this  is  the  first  time  in  my  life  that  I 
was  ever  tempted  to  regret  that  I  am  not  a  negro." 

On  our  way  out  to  Windsor  Castle  that  after- 
noon it  was  my  privilege  to  occupy  the  same  com- 
partment with  His  Grace  the  Archbishop,  Dr. 
Temple.     In  the  familiar  intercourse  existing  be- 

207 


MY   PEOPLE    OF   THE    PLAINS 

tween  the  several  bishops  after  many  days  of  the 
conference,  Dr.  Temple  was  led  to  dwell  upon  some 
incidents  of  his  early  life.  He  told  us  that  his 
father  had  died,  leaving  his  mother  in  reduced  cir- 
cumstances, and  largely  dependent  on  her  son's 
help.  He  was  very  anxious  to  enter  the  univer- 
sity, and  by  dint  of  the  most  rigid  economy  it  was 
at  last  made  possible.  But  when  once  admitted, 
he  was  so  poor  that  he  could  not  buy  the  fuel  re- 
quired to  heat  his  room  nor  the  oil  for  his  study- 
lamp.  He  was  therefore  compelled  to  do  his  study- 
ing under  the  hall-light  furnished  by  the  university, 
and  to  keep  warm  by  wrapping  himself  in  a  blanket. 
He  said  that  at  one  time  when  he  could  hardly  see 
how  it  was  possible  for  him  to  remain  longer  in  the 
university  he  had  received  a  draft  from  a  London 
bank  for  fifty  pounds,  sent  him  by  some  unknown 
friend.  He  had  never  been  enabled  to  discover  to 
whom  he  had  been  indebted  in  that  dark  hour,  but 
had  often  felt  he  would  be  so  happy  if  only  he  could 
show  his  gratitude  to  his  mysterious  benefactor. 
His  story  impressed  me  at  the  time  as  revealing  a 
new  side  of  the  life  of  a  man  who  had  reached  the 
highest  dignity  in  the  gift  of  the  nation.  While 
similar  experiences  of  early  struggles  with  poverty 
are  not  unfamiliar  to  us  in  the  lives  of  celebrated 
Americans,  we  are  hardly  prepared  to  hear  of  them 
in  England,  especially  in  the  case  of  an  archbishop. 
Other  distinguished  ecclesiastics  in  England  were 
good  enough  to  evince  an  interest  in  my  missionary 

208 


MAKING  THE   WORK   KNOWN 

field  and  to  ektend  to  me  much  gracious  hospitality. 
Among  these  I  am  indebted  for  particular  and  re- 
peated courtesies  and  unfailing  welcome  to  His 
Grace  the  Archbishop  of  York,  and  Mrs.  Maclagan, 
to  the  Lord  Bishops  of  London,  Lichfield,  Norwich, 
Winchester,  and  Lincoln,  and  to  the  Very  Rev. 
Dean  Gregory  of  St.  Paul's,  and  Canon  Farrar  of 
Westminster. 

Among  the  prominent  laymen  who  welcomed  me 
as  an  American  bishop  to  their  beautiful  country- 
seats,  and  were  thoroughly  identified  with  the  mis- 
sionary cause,  are  to  be  mentioned  the  Duke  of 
Newcastle,  Lord  Ashcombe,  Sir  John  Kennaway, 
and  Sir  Robert  AVhite-Thompson,  all  noble  types  of 
English  gentlemen,  loyal  sons  of  church  and  state. 

The  rectors  of  a  number  of  the  large  London 
churches  begged  me  to  tell  their  people  the  story  of 
my  Western  work,  and  insisted  on  giving  me  the 
offerings  for  my  cathedral.  The  fact  that  I  had  in 
Wyoming  and  Idaho  so  many  Englishmen  who  had 
written  their  fr,iends  about  my  visit  made  this  re- 
quest a  natural  one.  In  one  London  church,  where 
I  was  asked  by  the  vicar  to  describe  some  of  my 
missionary  experiences,  I  told  incidents  calculated 
to  provoke  a  smile,  and  the  congregation  did  not 
hesitate  to  give  visible  expression  to  their  feelings. 
After  the  service  the  vicar  said: 

"I  cannot  tell  you,  my  lord,  how  greatly  wc  all 
enjoyed  your  address.  It  was  most  picturesque 
and  thrilling;  but  some  parts  of  it  actually  made 

209 


MY   PEOPLE   OF   THE   PLAINS 

my  people  laugh,  don't  you  know.  The  fact  is,  I 
could  hardly  keep  from  smiling  myself.  I  hope 
you  will  excuse  my  people." 

He  seemed  much  relieved  when  I  told  him  that  I 
expected  them  to  smile,  and  should  have  been  dis- 
appointed if  they  had  not  done  so. 

When  as  the  guest  of  the  Lord  Bishop  of  Nor- 
wich I  was  stopping  at  the  palace,  I  w^as  invited  to 
spend  the  night  with  Canon  Hinds-Howell,  a  ven- 
erable and  greatly  beloved  clergyman,  whose  parish 
was  about  seven  miles  in  the  country.  He  was 
nearly  ninety  years  of  age,  but  was  wonderfully 
alert,  and  still  in  the  full  possession  of  his  remark- 
able intellectual  gifts.  In  his  prime  he  had  been 
an  active  participator  in  many  of  the  stirring  scenes 
of  English  church  life  and  politics.  The  morning 
after  we  arrived  he  took  me  to  visit  his  parochial 
school,  where  the  little  children  of  the  parish  were 
taught.  There  were  two  rooms  separated  by  fold- 
ing-doors. On  the  occasion  of  my  visit  these  were 
thrown  together,  and  the  children  had  gathered 
flowers  and  evergreens  and  decorated  them  quite 
attractively.  In  addressing  the  school  I  asked 
them  a  number  of  questions  about  the  Bible  and 
the  catechism,  and  found  them  well  instructed  in 
both.  They  had  been  greatly  interested  in  my 
coming,  as  they  had  never  seen  a  bishop,  and  the 
idea  of  seeing  one  from  America,  and  especially 
from  the  Rocky  Mountains,  appealed  greatly  to 
their  imaginations.     I  said: 

2IO 


MAKING   THE    WORK    KNOWN 

"Now,  children,  I  have  come  to  you  from  the 
Rocky  Mountains.  I  am  the  Bishop  of  Wyoming 
and  Idaho.  That  is  my  diocese.  Can  any  one  of 
you  tell  me  what  a  diocese  is?" 

Several  of  them  held  up  their  hands,  eagerly 
begging  to  answer  my  question.  One  little,  fair- 
haired  boy  on  the  front  seat  was  particularly  anx- 
ious to  tell  me.     I  therefore  said  to  him: 

"Very  well,  my  little  man.  Tell  me  now  what  a 
diocese  is." 

Quick  as  a  flash  he  stood  up  and  said: 

"A  diocese,  my  lord,  is  a  district  of  land  with  the 
bishop  on  top  and  the  clergy  underneath." 

There  was  a  peal  of  laughter  from  the  visitors 
and  children,  and  the  vicar  himself  was  delighted, 
saying  that  he  did  not  believe  even  an  American 
boy  could  do  better  than  that. 

Of  course,  there  were  times  when  it  was  quite 
impossible  to  leave  the  mission  field,  however 
urgent  the  demand  for  money,  and  on  those  occa- 
sions it  was  convenient  to  ask  some  brother  bishop 
who  could  get  away  just  then  to  represent  one's 
work  and  speak  of  one's  special  needs.  It  was  my 
good  fortune  to  have  as  my  next-door  neighbor 
Bishop  Leonard  of  Salt  Lake,  who  often  helped  me 
in  this  way,  and  between  whom  and  myself  there 
existed  a  life-long  friendship. 

Bishop  Leonard  and  I  were  born  in  the  same 
little  town,  Fayette,  Missouri,  were  baptized  as 
children  together,  started  to  school  the  same  day, 

IS  211 


MY   PEOPLE    OF   THE    PLAINS 

and  sat  on  the  same  bench.  We  subsequently  at- 
tended the  same  fitting  -  school,  and  prepared  for 
college  together.  While  I  had  set  my  heart  on  go- 
ing to  Yale,  when  the  time  came  I  could  not  sep- 
arate from  my  friend,  and  followed  him  to  Dart- 
mouth, which  college  had  been  the  Alma  Mater  of 
his  distinguished  father.  Rooming  together  at 
Dartmouth,  and  graduating  there  in  the  class  of 
1870,  w^e  both  entered  the  General  Theological 
Seminary  the  following  September.  After  a  three 
years'  course  in  theology  w^e  were  graduated  to- 
gether, and  ordained  at  the  same  time  as  deacons 
in  the  Little  Church  Around  the  Corner,  New 
York.  We  then  returned  to  Missouri,  our  native 
State,  and  served  as  clergymen  in  neighboring 
towns.  We  were  ordained  to  the  priesthood  to- 
gether in  the  church,  St.  Mary's,  Fayette,  where  we 
had  been  baptized  and  confirmed.  At  the  time  of 
my  marriage  he  performed  the  ceremony,  and  I 
officiated  at  his  wedding,  and  we  baptized  each 
other's  children.  Finally,  to  complete  this  remark- 
able series  of  parallelism,  we  were  elected  missionary 
bishops  within  a  year  of  each  other,  he  being  sent 
to  Utah  and  Nevada,  and  I  to  Wyoming  and  Idaho. 
At  my  consecration,  which  came  first,  he  was  one  of 
my  presenting  presbyters,  and  at  his,  I  preached  the 
sermon.  There  may  be  other  instances  where  two 
lives  have  run  on  thus  side  by  side  for  so  many 
years,  but  I  have  never  known  so  remarkable  an  il- 
lustration, and  I  cannot  tell  the  story  of  my  Western 

212 


RT.    REV.    ABIEL    LEONARD,    IJ.D.,    LL.U.,     BISHOP    OF    SALT    LAKE 


MAKING   THE    WORK    KNOWN 

work  without  mentioning  one  with  whom  I  was  so 
intimately  connected,  and  who,  in  so  many  ways, 
was  identified  with  me  in  the  work  itself.  His 
lamented  death,  which  occurred  recently,  deprived 
the  church  militant  of  one  of  her  noblest  and  most 
devoted  bishops. 

Thus,  through  the  great  kindness  and  co-opera- 
tion of  friends  in  the  missionary  field  and  through- 
out the  country,  I  could  find  on  my  election  to  the 
diocese  of  Central  Pennsylvania  in  1897,  abundant 
cause  for  gratitude  and  some  results  of  my  eleven 
years  of  labor  in  the  West.  Inadequate  as  these 
results  seem,  they  could  never  have  been  accom- 
plished if  my  efforts  had  not  been  seconded  by  as 
noble  a  band  of  faithful  clergy  as  ever  cheered  a 
bishop's  heart.  Above  all,  and  more  than  all  else, 
I  had  the  assurance  of  a  confidence  and  affection  on 
the  part  of  the  people,  which,  however  undeserved, 
will  always  be  cherished  as  yielding  my  greatest 
reward. 

The  territory  once  constituting  the  missionary 
district  of  Wyoming  and  Idaho  has,  since  my  de- 
parture, been  renamed  and  readjusted,  and  assigned 
to  four  wise  and  efficient  bishops,  who  are  to-day,  in 
their  several  districts,  moulding  morally  and  spir- 
itually the  lives  of  those  new  communities.  These 
leaders  of  God's  militant  hosts  are  laying  founda- 
tions for  the  future  civilization  of  a  large  section  of 
our  common  country,  which  must  in  time  play  an 
important    part    in    its   destiny.     They    need    and 

213 


MY   PEOPLE   OF   THE   PLAINS 

should  receive  for  the  sake  of  the  highest  interest 
of  the  nation  as  well  as  of  the  Church  the  generous 
support  and  confidence  of  broad-minded  and  patri- 
otic men  and  women  in  the  stronger  centres  of  the 
East. 


CHAPTER  XV 

MORMONISM  AND  THE  MORMONS 

IF  a  bishop  of  the  ordinary  type  is  tempted  to  be 
at  all  elated  by  the  pride  of  episcopal  ofifice,  a 
prompt  and  ready  cure  is  supplied  when  he  finds 
himself  among  his  Mormon  brethren.  For  every 
town  in  the  land  of  the  Latter-Day  Saints  has  at 
least  one  bishop,  and  the  larger  centres,  such  as 
Salt  Lake  and  Ogden,  abound  in  them.  Nor  are 
these  dignitaries  bishops  in  name  only.  They  wield 
a  power  most  autocratic  and  far  reaching.  Let  a 
Christian  bishop,  for  instance,  attempt  to  make  a 
visitation  of  a  Mormon  town  or  village.  Through 
the  kind  offices  of  some  Gentile  friend  or  perhaps  a 
disgruntled  apostate  Mormon,  the  use  of  a  hall  or 
a  vacant  store  has  been  secured  in  which  to  hold 
a  service.  The  appointment  has  been  duly  an- 
nounced, and  the  day  arrives.  Circulars  have  been 
distributed,  and  the  local  papers  have  drawn  atten- 
tion to  the  proposed  visit  of  the  bishop.  But  when 
the  hour  comes  for  the  service  to  begin  he  finds  the 
hall  empty.  A  little  reflection  will  remind  him 
that  there  are  bishops  and  bishops,  and  in  that 
section  of  the  country  the  bishop  who  presides  over 

215 


MY   PEOPLE   OF  THE   PLAINS 

the  sp.ritual  affairs  of  that  "stake"  has  quietly  sent 
word  around  to  the  faithful  to  stay  at  home  that 
night.  Hence,  vacant  chairs,  with  scarcely  a  sem- 
blance of  a  congregation,  are  almost  sure  to  greet 
him.  Such  was  my  experience  again  and  again, 
and  yet  when  I  met  the  people  themselves  in  their 
places  of  business  or  in  their  homes  they  were  never 
lacking  in  courtesy  and  consideration.  Indeed,  the 
organization  and  discipline  of  the  Mormon  hierarchy 
are  noteworthy,  and  go  far  to  explain  its  almost  un- 
limited control  over  the  people.  Of  its  govern- 
ment some  one  has  said  that  nothing  has  been  more 
perfect  since  the  time  of  the  Caesars.  The  Roman 
emperor  could  reach  and  control  with  his  power  at 
once  the  proud  senator  and  the  humblest  picket  at 
the  gate  of  the  provincial  outpost.  But  the  Mor- 
mon president  sits  on  the  throne  of  infallibility  not 
only  to  pass  upon  questions  of  faith  and  morals 
when  speaking  ex-  cathedra,  but  his  word  is  final 
both  as  to  how  and  when  a  man  should  say  his 
prayers,  and  as  to  whether  he  shall  own  hogs  or 
trade  with  Gentiles.  Assisting  the  president  rather 
as  assessors  to  a  primate  or  a  chancellor  in  a  diocese, 
are  the  two  "first  councillors."  These  form  the 
"first  presidency."  Next  are  the  "quorum  of  the 
twelve";  then  the  "seventies";  then  the  bishops 
w4th  two  "councillors"  each;  next  the  elders  and 
deacons.  From  the  two  latter  are  chosen  the 
"ward  teachers"  —  inquisitors,  in  fact.  The  town 
is  divided  into  "wards."     Nine  Salt  Lake  square 

216 


MORMONISM  AND  THE  MORMONS 

blocks  used  to  be  a  "ward."  These  each  have  a 
bishop,  acting  as  a  sort  of  business  manager,  whose 
house  is  probably  the  best  in  the  "ward."  He  and 
his  two  councillors  reach  the  elders  and  the  teachers. 
These  two  latter  degrees  are  grouped  in  quorums  of 
twelve  each,  and  one  is  chosen  to  be  a  member  of  a 
higher  quorum,  and  so  throughout.  The  teachers 
go  in  pairs.  Mormonism  understands  the  power  of 
going  two  by  two.  They  never  send  one  on  a  re- 
ligious mission.  If  one  can  do  it  well  alone  two 
can  do  it  better.  If  one  lonely  heart  grows  sick, 
two  are  mutually  helpful  and  reassuring.  One- 
horse  teams  run  away  more  easily  than  two-horse 
teams.  Hence,  two  teachers  take  a  block  or  go  be- 
tween cross  streets  together.  They  ask  such  ques- 
tions as  these:  "Do  you  say  your  family  prayers?" 
"Do  you  uphold  the  priesthood?"  "Do  you  pay 
your  tithing?"  "Have  you  sent  in  your  quarterly 
fast  money  for  the  poor?"  These  inquisitors  re- 
port in  "secret  council"  to  the  priesthood  meeting 
every  month.  The  delinquents  and  malcontents 
are  promptly  dealt  with.  Every  male  among 
them  is  made  a  deacon  at  about  fifteen.  He  is 
baptized  and  confirmed  at  eight.  When  he  reaches 
the  age  of  eighteen  he  is  advanced  to  the  priest- 
hood. This  office,  however,  does  not  involve  many 
home  duties  of  a  priestly  character.  The  chief  sig- 
nificance of  the  priestly  degree  for  a  young  man  is 
that  from  that  hour  he  is  liable  to  receive  a  letter 
from  the  presidency  notifying  him  that  he  is  ap- 

217 


MY   PEOPLE   OF   THE   PLAINS 

pointed  to  a  two  years'  mission  abroad.  To  this 
rule  there  are  few,  if  any,  exceptions. 

Think  what  it  means  to  send  every  year  through- 
out our  own  country  and  the  various  countries  of 
Europe  these  young  missionaries,  numbering  some- 
times over  two  thousand.  Where  do  they  go? 
Often  the  young  man  goes  to  the  native  land  of  his 
father.  Sometimes  he  arranges  to  attend  a  medical 
or  dental  or  law  college  by  day  and  preach  on  the 
streets  at  night.  On  Saturdays  he  delivers  tracts 
and  drums  up  his  crowd  for  the  "branch  meeting." 
His  outfit  consists  of  a  Prince  Albert  coat,  a  white 
necktie,  a  Mormon's  compendium  of  "Ready-Refer- 
ences of  Scripture  Texts,"  and  a  great  deal  of  cour- 
age and  self-assurance  tempered  with  enough  of 
religious  zeal  to  arrest  the  attention  of  the  most 
careless. 

Again,  he  goes  absolutely  at  his  own  cost.  The 
church  must  not  be  taxed  for  his  services  one 
penny.  Perhaps  the  "ward"  gives  him  a  benefit 
dance,  a  sort  of  farewell,  the  night  before  he  leaves. 
The  proceeds  often  take  him  to  his  destination. 
Himself  or  his  father  must  provide  the  rest.  Often 
he  sells  his  stock,  horses  or  cattle,  and  sometimes 
his  home,  and  makes  these  sacrifices  cheerfully.  It 
is  a  part  of  his  training  and  of  the  essence  of  his  re- 
ligion that  he  should  regard  it  a  great  honor  to  take 
a  part  in  redeeming  "lost  Israel."  There  is  an  ele- 
ment of  heroism  and  self-sacrifice  in  it  which  ap- 
peals to  his  young  heart  and  sets  on  fire  his  whole 

218 


MORMONISM  AND  THE  MORMONS 

nature.  If  perchance  he  should  ever  fall  short  in 
money,  then  the  church  stands  ready  to  advance  it 
to  him,  or,  if  married,  to  his  family,  and  collects  it 
from  him  when  he  returns  or  as  soon  thereafter  as 
possible. 

But  suppose  the  man  thus  appointed  to  go  on 
a  two  years'  mission  should  refuse?  Ah,  but  he 
will  not  refuse.  Why?  Long  before  the  mechanic 
learned  the  boycott,  Brigham  Young,  a  wise  man  if 
not  a  good  man,  a  sort  of  Mormon  Standard  Oil 
magnate  and  model  financier,  had  all  such  con- 
tingencies carefully  safe-guarded. 

The  Mormon  religion  is  a  social  religion.  No- 
where are  social  inequalities  less  distinctly  recog- 
nized. The  Amateur  Dramatic  Club  is  under  the  im- 
primatur of  the  bishop.  So  is  the  choir  and  the  weekly 
Dancing  Club.  So  is  the  Woman's  Relief  and  the 
Young  Men's  Mutual  Improvement  Society.  Let  a 
man  dare  hesitate  to  obey  the  high  command  to 
leave  his  home  and  become  an  exile  for  two  years, 
at  his  own  cost,  and  every  one  of  these  strong  or- 
ganizations will  refuse  him  membership  and  recog- 
nition. The  women  will  taboo  him  in  their  homes. 
He  will  be  "visited"  by  the  "teachers."  The 
bishop  will  be  sure  to  hold  him  up  in  scorn  and 
contempt  in  his  next  Sunday's  sermon,  and  he  will 
probably  be  reproved  by  the  presidency,  if  not  sus- 
pended. Indeed,  life  would  become  intolerable  as 
a  result  of  such  a  refusal. 

Besides,    why    should    he    refuse?    Two    years 

219 


MY   PEOPLE   OF  THE   PLAINS 

abroad  is  not  so  bad  after  all.  One  sees  the  world, 
and  the  welcome  of  a  conquering  hero  awaits  his  re- 
turn. It  is  hard  to  endure  the  life  of  an  exile  for 
two  long  years,  it  is  true.  At  home  he  had  the 
entree  of  the  best  families  among  the  Saints.  He 
could  frequently  gaze  upon  the  glorious  Temple  of 
Zion,  the  pride  of  his  heart  and  the  glory  of  his 
fathers.  His  religion  was  the  all-prevailing  and 
dominant  one.  All  this  is  changed  now,  and  he  is 
called  upon  to  endure  persecution  and  loneliness, 
possibly  to  face  death.  But  here  his  faith  comes  to 
his  rescue,  and  all  misgivings  flee  away.  Deep 
down  in  his  heart  is  the  firm  conviction  that  the 
whole  world  is  apostate,  and  that  to  his  young  life 
has  been  given  the  unspeakable  privilege  of  making 
known  to  perishing  men  the  one  and  only  true  sal- 
vation. The  young  Jesuit  who  prostrates  himself 
before  the  high  altar  and  offers  himself  a  living 
oblation  to  his  God  has  a  higher  conception  of 
God  and  a  far  more  spiritual  conception  of  life.  I 
doubt  if  he  has  any  more  intense  belief  that  he  is 
the  chosen  vessel  to  proclaim  a  peculiar  message  of 
pardon  and  peace  or  a  sincerer  willingness  to  make 
any  personal  sacrifice  than  the  young  Mormon  as 
he  sets  out  on  his  missionary  campaign.  Both  are 
trained  by  men  who  are  known  to  have  made 
similar  sacrifices  for  like  cause  within  recent  years. 
Both  are  taught  a  definite  faith,  whether  right  or 
wrong.  Both  believe  firmly  that  every  sacrifice 
here  gains   merit   for  the   soul   in   heaven.     Their 

220 


MORMONISM  AND  THE  MORMONS 

heaven  is  widely  different  as  is  their  creed.  Yet 
both  are  led  from  twelve  years  of  age  to  look  for- 
ward to  a  definite  sacrifice  and  a  definite  reward  of 
a  thousandfold,  each  after  his  own  conception. 

And  what  do  these  young  people  teach,  who  year 
by  year  are  flooding  the  whole  civilized  world  with 
their  missionaries?  They  preach  a  very  enticing 
and  fascinating  gospel.  It  is  a  mistake  to  imagine 
that  they  do  not  profess  to  be  Christians.  The 
Mormon  missionary  d^oes  make  this  claim,  and  the 
Christian  Bible  goes  hand-in-hand  with  the  Book  of 
Mormon.  Jesus  Christ,  the  Saviour  of  the  world,  is 
one  of  their  prophets.  If  they  repudiated  the 
Christian  Gospel  they  would  be  shorn  of  half  their 
power.  They  allege  that  the  revelations  vouch- 
safed to  Joseph  Smith,  their  founder,  are  but  a 
modern  application  of  the  teaching  of  Jesus;  that 
the  Book  of  Mormon  is  but  a  continuation  of  the 
story  of  the  Gospel.  In  other  words,  Mormonism  is 
but  a  corrupted  form  of  Christianity. 

The  missionaries  find  their  converts  in  the  crowd- 
ed slums  of  London  and  other  large  cities  of  Europe. 
They  go  to  Manchester,  Birmingham,  Sheffield, 
Liverpool,  and  all  the  large  centres  of  population  in 
England,  Germany,  Denmark,  Norway,  and  Sweden. 
Nor  do  the  country  villages  ahvays  escape.  Wher- 
ever the  conditions  of  life  are  hard  and  narrow  and 
discontent  is  brewing  they  are  likely  to  find  a  wel- 
come. It  is  a  great  advantage  to  them,  to  begin 
with,  that  they  come  from  America,  the  land  of  the 

221 


MY   PEOPLE   OF   THE    PLAINS 

free,  where  the  oppressed  of  all  nations  are  made 
welcome.  Then  they  tell  of  a  land  flowing  with 
milk  and  honey,  where  a  rich  harvest  rewards 
honest  toil.  To  each  convert  they  offer  a  farm 
without  money  and  without  price.  Of  course,  he 
will  be  expected  in  due  time  to  pay  for  this  land 
a  nominal  price  per  acre,  but  meanwhile  a  home 
will  be  built  and  a  good  living  secured.  Even  his 
passage  across  the  Atlantic  and  the  entire  cost  of 
transportation  from  New  York  to  the  far  distant 
valley  of  the  Salt  Lake  are  advanced  to  the  con- 
vert, with  the  understanding  that  when  he  is  able 
he  will  repay.  Thus  it  is  that  converts  are  made 
by  the  thousands,  and  it  cannot  be  denied  that, 
generally  speaking,  the  material  conditions  of  Mfe  in 
store  for  those  who  lend  a  willing  ear  to  these  se- 
ductive promises  are  greatly  improved.  I  am  far 
from  saying  that  false  inducements  are  held  out. 
Still  less  that  disappointment  and  failure  await  the 
Mormon  immigrant.  On  the  contrary,  the  wilder- 
ness has  been  made  to  blossom  as  the  rose.  Vast 
areas  of  desert  land  have  been  transformed  into 
fertile  farms,  yielding  incredible  harvests  of  grain 
and  fruit.  The  most  prejudiced  enemy  of  the  Mor- 
mon Church  must  admit  that  the  thrift,  industry, 
and  unremitting  labor  of  the  people  are  beyond  all 
praise. 

Much  has  been  said  of  Brigham  Young,  who  was 
the  maker  though  not  the  founder  of  Mormonism. 
There  are  many  still  living  who  knew  him  well,  and 

222 


BRIGHAM     VOUXG 


MORMONISM  AND  THE  MORMONS 

his  character  and  personaHty  are  easily  ascertained. 
He  was  a  New-Englander,  and  was  thirty  years  of 
age  when  he  became  identified  with  the  Mormons. 
He  was  by  trade  a  painter,  and  did  not  have  the 
advantages  of  a  liberal  education,  but  was  pos- 
sessed of  remarkable  natural  shrewdness,  and  was  a 
born  leader  of  men.  Large,  masterful,  somewhat 
unscrupulous,  fertile  in  resources,  he  left  the  im- 
press of  his  genius  and  organizing  power  upon  the 
Mormons  indelibly.  Indeed,  in  many  respects,  as 
his  work  unmistakably  shows,  he  was  a  unique  man. 
As  a  far-seeing  executive,  giving  attention  to  every 
detail  which  tended  to  add  efficiency  to  his  some- 
what complicated  machinery,  he  has  had  few 
equals.  Innumerable  are  the  stories  illustrating 
his  native  wit  and  versatility.  It  is  said  that  one 
day  a  Welshman  with  one  leg  had  been  converted 
on  the  promise  that  Brigham  could  cause  a  new  leg 
to  grow.  He  reached  Salt  Lake,  and  forthwith  pre- 
sented himself  at  the  "Zion  House  Office,"  and  was 
confronted  by  the  great  man. 

"And  so  you  want  a  new  leg,  do  you?"  said 
Brigham.  "Well,  I  can  give  it  you,  but  remember 
that  all  the  attributes  you  have  in  this  life  will  be 
resurrected  at  the  last  day.  Now,  you  have  already 
had  two  legs,  and  if  I  create  for  you  a  third,  then 
in  eternity  you  will  be  like  a  monstrosity,  and  will 
have  three  legs.  Besides,  you  are  already  old,  and 
cannot  live  much  longer.  Choose,  therefore,  be- 
tween a  new  leg  here  and  three  in  heaven." 

223 


MY   PEOPLE   OF   THE    PLAINS 

The  poor  fellow  naturally  decided  to  try  to  be 
content  with  one  leg  here  that  he  might  have  only 
two  hereafter. 

The  Mormons'  idea  of  resurrection  is  sameness 
rather  than  identity.  Hence,  when  an  amputation 
is  performed  in  the  hospital  or  elsewhere  the  friends 
wait  for  the  dismembered  part,  label  it  carefully, 
and  bury  it  till  its  owner  dies.  Otherwise  it  would 
be  travelling  through  space  to  find  the  body  to 
which  it  belongs. 

It  was  an  old  idea  which  still  survives  among 
them  that  a  man's  glory  in  heaven  is  in  proportion 
to  his  "kingdom,"  which  means  his  children  here. 
Hence,  a  brother  who  died  childless  was  often  suc- 
ceeded by  a  "proxy"  husband,  who  took  the  widow 
to  raise  up  children  "for  the  dead." 

Brigham  Young  showed  his  wisdom  in  many 
ways,  and  not  least  in  directing  the  energies  of  his 
people  to  agriculture  rather  than  mining.  Had  he 
permitted  them  to  go  into  mining  in  the  fifties, 
there  never  would  have  been  the  thrifty,  prosper- 
ous, and  beautiful  valleys  and  well-laid  out  towns 
that  now  delight  the  eye  in  a  country  so  recently  a 
desert  of  sage-brush. 

As  this  strange  religion  has  become  so  important 
a  factor  in  the  development  of  our  Western  States 
and  Territories,  and  is  destined  in  some  form,  how- 
ever modified,  to  continue  to  grow  and  spread 
among  our  people,  it  may  be  well  at  this  point  to 
give  a  brief  resume  of  its  rise  and  progress.     Like 

224 


MORMON  ISM   AND   THE    MORMONS 

every  other  institution,  it  has  a  history,  and  if  many 
of  its  claims  may  seem  to  us  apocryphal,  some 
slight  knowledge  of  its  genius  and  spirit  will  at 
least  enable  us  to  understand  it  better. 

It  is  safe  to  assume  that  the  great  mass  of  those 
who  are  classed  as  Mormons  or  Latter-Day  Saints 
are  honest  and  conscientious  as  religious  people  gen- 
erally. The  great  sacrifices  which,  as  we  have  seen, 
they  are  willing  to  make  in  attestation  of  their  be- 
lief, the  industry,  thrift,  and  indefatigable  energy 
which  they  have  evinced  in  overcoming  obstacles 
wellnigh  insurmountable,  the  superb  organization 
which  holds  them  together  as  one  mind  and  soul — 
all  this  challenges  our  respectful  consideration,  and 
leads  us  to  ask,  Whence  and  how  did  Mormonism 
come?  The  sect  in  its  origin  and  growth  presents 
one  of  the  most  interesting  of  all  the  religious 
phenomena  of  modern  times. 

Joseph  Smith,  its  founder,  was  born  in  Sharon, 
Windsor  County,  Vermont,  December  23,  1805. 
He  removed  with  his  father  during  childhood,  and 
settled  near  Palmyra,  Wayne  County,  New  York. 
Amid  these  wild  forests  he  was  reared  a  farmer,  and 
inured  to  all  the  hardships,  toils,  and  privations  of 
a  newly  settled  country.  His  education,  therefore, 
was  very  limited.  His  followers  claim  that  when 
about  seventeen  years  of  age  he  had  several  open 
visions  in  which  a  holy  angel  administered  to  him, 
admonished  him  for  his  sins,  taught  him  repentance 
and  faith  in  the  crucified  and  risen  Messiah,  opened 

225 


MY   PEOPLE   OF   THE    PLAINS 

to  him  the  Scriptures  of  the  prophets,  unfolded  to 
him  the  field  of  prophecy  pertainiag  to  the  latter- 
day  glory  and  the  doctrines  of  Christ  and  His 
ancient  apostles. 

These  followers  further  allege  that  on  the  2  2d  of 
September,  1827,  the  angel  directed  the  youthful 
prophet  to  a  hill  a  few  miles  distant,  called  anciently 
Cumorah.  Around  this  hill  in  the  fifth  century  of 
the  Christian  era  had  rallied  the  last  remnant  of  a 
once  powerful  and  highly  polished  nation  called  the 
Nephites.  At  the  head  of  these  was  the  renowned 
Mormon,  the  general  of  a  hundred  battles,  and  sec- 
ond in  command  General  Moroni.  These  were  the 
last  prophets  of  a  nation  now  no  more.  They  held 
the  sacred  records,  compiled  and  transmitted  by 
their  fathers  from  the  remotest  antiquity.  They 
held  the  Urim  and  the  Thummim  and  the  compass 
of  Lehi  which  had  been  prepared  by  Providence  to 
guide  a  colony  from  Jerusalem  to  America. 

In  this  hill,  Cumorah,  they  had  safely  deposited 
all  these  sacred  treasures.  Here  they  lay  concealed 
for  fourteen  hundred  years;  here  the  angel  Moroni 
directed  the  young  Joseph  to  find  these  long-buried 
revelations  and  with  them  the  Urim  and  Thummim. 
The  abridged  record  thus  obtained  had  been  en- 
graved in  Egyptian  characters  on  gold  plates  by 
the  two  prophets  Mormon  and  Moroni.  Instructed 
by  the  angel  and  the  use  of  the  Urim  and  Thum- 
mim, Joseph,  now  a  prophet  and  seer,  was  enabled 
to  translate  them.     Early  in  1830  this  translation, 

226 


MORMON  ISM   AND   THE   MORMONS 

with  the  accompanying  testimony,  was  pubHshed 
in  English  under  the  title  of  the  Book  of  Mormon. 
It  has  since  been  translated  and  published  in  nearly 
all  European  languages. 

Joseph  continued  to  receive  visions,  revelations, 
and  the  ministry  of  angels,  by  whom  he  was  at 
length  ordained  to  the  apostleship  or  high  priest- 
hood, after  the  order  of  Melchizedec,  to  hold  the 
keys  of  the  kingdom  of  God,  the  dispensation  of  the 
fulness  of  time.  Thus  qualified,  he  proceeded  in 
1830  to  organize  the  Church  of  the  Latter-Day 
Saints.  In  the  same  year  branches  of  the  church 
were  organized  in  various  parts  of  New  York,  Penn- 
sylvania, Ohio,  and  elsewhere,  and  the  ntimber  of 
his  disciples  increased  to  upward  of  one  thousand. 
In  1835  he  ordained  a  quorimi  of  twelve  apostles 
and  several  quorimis  of  seventy  as  a  travelling  min- 
istry. In  1840  the  quorum  of  the  twelve  apostles 
visited  England,  and  gathered  great  numbers  into 
the  church. 

It  was  between  the  years  1840  and  1844  that  the 
prophet  gathered  about  him  many  thousands  of  his 
disciples,  erected  the  city  of  Nauvoo,  Illinois,  on 
the  banks  of  the  Mississippi,  and  commenced  the 
building  of  a  magnificent  temple.  Coming  into  con- 
flict with  the  civil  authority  on  account  of  alleged 
polygamous  practices  the  Mormons  were  driven 
from  Illinois  as  they  had  been  previously  driven 
from  Missouri.  Joseph  Smith  and  his  brother 
Hyrum  were  thrown  in  prison  at  Carthage,  Illinois, 

16  227 


MY   PEOPLE   OF   THE   PLAINS 

on  the  charge  of  treason,  and  were  killed  as  a  result 
of  an  attack  upon  the  jail  by  the  infuriated  popu- 
lace. Wearied  with  long  -  continued  persecution, 
the  council  of  the  apostles  now  determined  to  seek 
peace  for  the  Saints  among  the  far-off  and  almost 
unexplored  deserts  and  mountains  of  the  West. 

On  July  24,  1847,  the  pioneers  of  this  vast  emi- 
gration, headed  by  the  president  of  the  whole 
church,  Brigham  Young,  entered  the  valley  of  the 
Great  Salt  Lake.  In  the  mean  time,  to  quote  from 
one  of  the  Mormon  historians,  "The  beautiful 
Nauvoo  and  its  surrounding  farms  and  villas  fell  a 
prey  to  the  enemy,  after  a  vigorous  defence.  Its 
temple,  the  pride  and  glory  of  America,  was  laid  in 
ashes.  Its  last  remnant  plundered,  robbed  of  their 
all,  sick,  destitute,  wounded,  bleeding,  dying,  at 
length  disappeared  beyond  the  horizon  of  the  il- 
limitable plains  of  the  West,  and  for  a  moment  the 
curtain  of  oblivion  closed  over  this  strange  drama, 
and  the  Kingdom  of  God  seemed  lost  to  mortal 
view." 

I  have  ventured  thus  to  give  this  summary  of  the 
beginnings  of  this  strange  sect  as  a  sort  of  historic 
setting  for  the  remarks  which  follow,  and  as  throw- 
ing some  light  on  their  beliefs  and  practices.  It  is 
not  my  purpose  to  enter  fully  into  the  discussion  of 
their  religious  views,  in  which  the  public  has  but 
little  interest,  except  to  observe  that  among  the 
various  revelations  which  Joseph  Smith  claimed  to 
receive   from   the   Almighty   was   one   sanctioning 

228 


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MORMON  ISM   AND   THE    MORMONS 

polygamy.     This  revelation  bears  the  date  of  July 
12,  1843. 

As  the  civil  laws  of  the  United  States,  quite  apart 
from  questions  of  religion,  make  it  a  crime  and  mis- 
demeanor for  a  man  to  have  more  than  one  wife  at 
a  time,  it  is  not  at  all  strange  that  Mormonism,  with 
polygamy  as  one  of  its  most  cherished  and  charac- 
teristic beliefs,  aroused,  as  soon  as  this  became 
known,  the  most  violent  spirit  of  opposition  in  all 
true  Americans.  It  was  felt  that  the  sacredness  of 
the  home  and  the  purity  of  family  life  were  seri- 
ously imperilled.  Hence  it  was  that  the  governors 
of  our  several  States,  especially  those  of  Missouri 
and  Illinois,  where  the  disciples  of  Joseph  Smith 
were  intrenching  themselves,  felt  called  upon  to  rid 
their  commonwealths  of  a  grave  menace  to  civiliza- 
tion. 

The  conflicts  which  ensued  were  inevitable,  and 
resulted  in  expelling  the  Mormons  from  their  bor- 
ders into  the  uninhabited  desert.  Whether  our 
government  did  not  greatly  err  in  tolerating  the 
evil  of  polygamy  among  the  Mormons  for  so  many 
years  after  they  went  to  Salt  Lake  is  now  scarcely 
debatable,  but  it  was  only  a  matter  of  time  when 
the  issue  had  to  be  squarely  met  and  the  practice 
put  under  the  ban  of  the  law. 

Let  us  now  consider  their  present  attitude  tow- 
ards the  government  and  our  duty  with  reference 
to  them  as  a  people. 

As  to  the  practice  of  polygamy,  enjoined  by  rev- 

229 


MY   PEOPLE    OF   THE    PLAINS 

elation  to  Joseph  Smith,  their  founder,  in  1843,  it 
must  not  be  forgotten  that  another  revelation  dis- 
tinctly repudiating  polygamy  came  to  President 
Woodruff,  his  successor,  in  1890.  This  second  rev- 
elation occurred  very  opportunely,  and  relieved  the 
Mormon  hierarchy  of  an  embarrassing  situation,  for 
the  government  had  now  become  fully  aroused  to 
the  enormity  of  the  practice,  and  had  determined 
to  put  it  down.  Indeed,  it  was  only  on  the  ex- 
pressed condition  that  polygamy  should  cease  that 
Utah  was  admitted  into  the  Union.  It  was  a  great 
advantage  to  have  the  iron-clad  law  of  the  land  for- 
bidding plural  marriages  backed  up  by  the  approv- 
ing voice  and  sanction  of  the  will  of  God  as  com- 
municated by  special  revelation  to  the  infallible 
head  of  the  church.  Nevertheless,  many  were  the 
hardships  involved  in  this  radical  change  in  social 
and  domestic  relations.  Those  men  who  had  more 
than  one  wife,  and  that  was  the  rule  rather  than 
the  exception,  especially  among  the  well-to-do,  had 
to  select  the  wife  first  married  as  the  lawful  one 
and  put  away  the  others.  But  there  rested  on  all 
such  the  moral  obligation  wisely  recognized  by  the 
government,  to  still  provide  for  and  support  the 
wives  and  children  once  recognized  as  a  part  of  the 
family. 

The  government  then  addressed  itself  to  the  im- 
portant duty  of  seeing  that  henceforth  no  more 
plural  marriages  should  take  place.  And  in  this  at- 
titude the   church   was,  theoretically,  at   least,   in 

230 


MORMONISM  AND  THE  MORMONS 

sympathy  with  the  States.  Numerous  instances, 
however,  were  found  where  the  law  of  church  and 
state  was  ignored,  and  the  practice  has  died  a  very 
slow  and  gradual  death.  The  public  conscience 
has  been  somewhat  shocked  to  find  that  high  offi- 
cials of  the  church  when  arraigned  have  unblush- 
ingly  admitted  that  they  were  living  with  several 
wives.  Just  how  extensive  the  practice  of  plural 
marriages  has  been  since  President  Woodruff  issued 
his  manifesto  forbidding  it,  would  be  difficult  to 
judge  from  the  evidence  so  far  produced.  For  my- 
self, I  am  clearly  convinced  that  less  than  three  per 
cent,  at  present  care  to  practise  polygamy,  and  they 
find  that  the  risk  of  exposure  is  too  great  to  at- 
tempt it. 

Then,  besides  the  ecclesiastical  and  civil  barriers 
now  imposed,  two  other  considerations  have  in- 
creasing weight  in  eliminating  polygamy.  I  refer, 
first,  to  the  economical  question  involved.  As  the 
country  is  becoming  more  thickly  settled,  competi- 
tion and  the  difficulty  of  living  make  increasing  de- 
mand on  one's  resources.  When  one  considers  how 
much  it  costs  the  ordinary  carpenter,  laborer, 
mechanic,  clerk,  farmer,  to  keep  the  average  Ameri- 
can home  with  its  regulation  number  of  children, 
say  one  son  and  one  daughter  and  one  wife,  it  be- 
comes evident  that  polygamy  is  a  luxury  for  the 
few  only,  inside  of  Mormonism  as  it  is  outside; 
and  that  only  the  well-to-do  classes  can  support 
two  homes. 

231 


MY   PEOPLE   OF   THE   PLAINS 

Add  to  the  fact  that  every  Mormon  woman 
reckons  her  glory  here  and  her  joy  in  eternity  on  the 
basis  of  the  number  of  children  she  can  give  her 
husband,  and  one  can  see  that  modern  conditions 
alone  will  soon  tend  to  make  polygamy  prohibitory. 

But  a  second  and  more  potent  influence  is  the 
effect  of  education  and  contact  with  American  civ- 
ilization. It  must  be  remembered  that  for  years 
Mormonism  was  intrenched  within  itself.  It  was 
literally  an  imperiimi  in  imperio.  Brigham  Young 
considered  it  an  impertinence  on  the  part  of  the 
United  States  even  to  set  foot  on  territory  reserved 
exclusively,  as  he  maintained,  for  the  kingdom  of 
the  Latter-Day  Saints,  Nor  did  he  hesitate  to  say 
as  much  in  the  most  unequivocal  language.  The 
Mormons  were  practically  isolated  and  cut  off  from 
the  rest  of  the  world.  But  they  are  no  longer  apart 
by  themselves.  The  advent  of  the  railroad  and  the 
telegraph  has  been  followed  by  thousands  of  Ameri- 
cans who  are  pouring  out  West  to  establish  homes 
in  the  fertile  valleys  which  irrigation  now  makes 
available.  In  Salt  Lake  City  to-day  the  Gentiles 
frequently  carry  the  city  elections  over  the  Mor- 
mon vote.  The  disproportion  of  population  in 
favor  of  the  Saints  is  becoming  less  and  less  daily. 
They  are  destined  ultimately  to  be  out-voted  and  to 
surrender  their  political  supremacy. 

Meanwhile,  many  of  the  bright  children,  sons  and 
daughters  of  the  more  prosperous  families,  are  being 
sent  East  in  large  numbers,  year  by  year,  the  young 

232 


MORMONISM  AND  THE  MORMONS 

men  to  Yale,  Harvard,  Columbia,  and  the  young 
women  to  Smith,  Vassar,  and  Wellesley  colleges. 
However  loyally  these  young  people  may  cling  to 
the  religious  traditions  of  their  fathers,  it  is  impos- 
sible to  conceive  of  them  as  passing  four  or  five 
years  in  the  atmosphere  and  companionship  of 
Christian  homes  without  being  made  to  see  by  con- 
tact the  immeasurable  difference  in  their  environ- 
ment. Indeed,  those  best  qualified  to  know  whereof 
they  speak,  assure  us  that  in  the  last  decade  there 
has  been  going  on  among  the  young  women  of  Utah 
and  the  Mormon  allegiance  generally,  a  growth  of 
repugnance,  amounting  in  many  instances  to  loath- 
ing, at  the  very  idea  of  polygamy.  We  are  also 
informed  that  the  young  men  are  keeping  pace 
with  them  in  that  regard. 

Only  recently  I  met  a  gentleman,  himself  a 
graduate  of  an  Eastern  university,  who  is  a  mana- 
ger of  a  large  industrial  plant  in  southern  Idaho, 
where  the  population  is  almost  solidly  Mormon. 
He  informs  me  that  the  young  men  and  women 
who  make  up  a  society  of  imusual  intelligence  in 
that  community,  cherish  only  sentiments  of  pity 
and  contempt  for  the  idea  of  plural  marriages. 

As  I  am  writing  this  article,  the  question  of  per- 
mitting Senator  Smoot,  a  Mormon  apostle  but  not 
a  polygamist,  to  retain  his  seat  is  now  pending.  It 
is  at  least  significant  that  no  charges  are  brought 
against  him  as  to  the  purity  of  his  family  life.  The 
real  contention  of  this  investigation  now  going  on, 

22,2, 


MY   PEOPLE   OF  THE   PLAINS 

is  that  Senator  Smoot  represents  not  the  people  of 
Utah,  but  the  Mormon  hierarchy,  and  that  he 
should  be  debarred  from  his  seat  in  the  Senate  be- 
cause he  was  nominated  only  after  formally  asking 
the  consent  of  that  hierarchy.  Indeed,  it  is  con- 
tended by  those  opposing  him,  with  every  show  of 
proof,  that  he  would  have  been  opposed,  defeated, 
and  expelled  from  his  office  as  an  "apostle"  if  he 
had  not  promised  implicit  conformity  with  the 
church's  views  and  objects  politically.  In  other 
words,  it  is  claimed  that  Senator  Smoot  is  not  a  free 
agent,  but  the  tool  of  a  powerful  ecclesiastical  body 
within  the  body  politic,  which  is  openly  and  often 
defiantly  upholding  and  even  promoting  flagrant 
violators  of  the  law  against  living  in  polygamy. 

When  Brigham  Roberts  was  refused  admission  to 
the  House  of  Representatives  it  was  because  he  was 
a  confessed  polygamist  and  not  because  he  was  a 
Mormon.  Of  course,  the  government  recognizes  no 
religious  test,  nor  does  it  discriminate  against  any 
religious  body  per  se. 

This  brings  me  to  consider  another  important 
feature  of  the  Mormon  problem — namely,  their  po- 
litical attitude  to  the  State.  Having  lived  among 
them  for  many  years,  I  became  convinced  that  the 
people  voted  almost  to  a  man  as  the  ecclesiastical 
authorities  dictated.  Whether  a  candidate  up  for 
election  was  a  Democrat  or  a  Republican  mattered 
not  in  the  least  to  the  hierarchy.  The  question 
was,  What  is  his  attitude  to  our  church,  and  what 

234 


MORMONISM  AND  THE  MORMONS 

favors  for  the  church  may  we  expect  from  him  if  he 
is  elected?  The  church  first,  and  poHtical  parties 
only  as  incidental;  and  this  is  fearfully  near  the 
other  aphorism,  "The  church  first,  the  country 
next."  Of  course,  if  the  belief  and  practice  of  any 
religious  body  do  not  contravene  the  established 
laws  of  the  republic,  such  a  principle  may  be  en- 
tirely harmless.  But  when  a  body  of  religious 
devotees  holding  the  balance  of  power,  use  that 
power  unscrupulously  to  maintain  and  shield  vio- 
lators of  the  law,  it  becomes  pregnant  with  the 
gravest  dangers.  A  prominent  Western  Senator 
has  recently  said  that  Mormonism  controls  the  poli- 
tics of  the  Rocky  Mountain  region,  and  he  sees  in 
that  fact  a  serious  menace  to  liberty  and  the  rights 
of  the  individual.  He  is  entirely  right  as  long  as 
the  present  spirit  with  reference  to  politics  domi- 
nates the  Mormon  people.  There  will  be  no  peace 
for  Mormonism  in  America  and  no  peace  for  the 
country  till  the  individual  Mormon  asserts  his  right 
to  civil  and  political  liberty.  He  must  cease  to  be 
an  automaton,  and  learn  to  become  a  man  and  an 
American  citizen. 

Now,  a  few  words  finally  as  to  the  future  of  Mor- 
monism. Most  people  who  know  personally  little 
of  the  real  conditions  that  obtain  in  the  West  think 
of  Mormonism  as  polygamy.  It  means  to  them 
that  and  nothing  more.  But  the  two  terms  are  far 
from  being  synonymous.  There  was  a  time  when 
polygamy    was    the    distinctive    doctrine    of    Mor- 

235 


MY   PEOPLE   OF   THE   PLAINS 

monism.  Now  it  is  rapidly  becoming  a  thing  of 
the  past.  It  is  being  relegated  to  the  dark  ages. 
As  we  have  already  seen,  the  coming  hosts  of  young 
men  and  women  who  will  control  its  future  will  no 
longer  tolerate  it.  They  have  already  scorned  and 
repudiated  it,  not  so  much  because  the  law  of 
church  and  state  condemns  it,  but  because  the  law 
of  the  human  heart,  as  soon  as  that  heart  has  a 
little  ray  of  light  shed  upon  it,  also  condemns  it. 
The  man  with  more  than  one  wife  is  fast  becoming 
an  object  of  ridicule  to  Mormon  girls.  The  poor 
wives  themselves  are  fit  objects  of  compassion. 
The  bright,  independent  young  women  now  com- 
ing forward  and  the  rank  and  file  of  the  young  men 
alike  despise  it.  We  may  say  the  snake  of  polyg- 
amy among  the  Latter -Day  Saints  is  not  only 
scotched,  it  has  had  its  day,  and  is  now  dead  or 
dying. 

But  how  about  Mormonism  itself?  Will  it  die? 
No.  It  will  daily  increase  in  strength — at  least,  for 
a  period  of  years.  In  efificiency  of  organization  it  is 
the  most  pervasive  and  comprehensive  hierarchy 
that  the  world  has  known.  Its  missionary  en- 
thusiasm and  its  missionary  sacrifices  often  put  to 
shame  the  zeal  of  our  Christian  churches,  I  am 
convinced  that  the  common  people  among  them, 
the  masses,  are  tremendously  in  earnest.  I  believe 
they  are  sincere.  They  believe  as  implicitly  in 
Joseph  Smith  as  the  prophet  of  God  as  we  do  that 
Christ  is  sent  of  God  to  be  the  Saviour  of  men. 

236 


MORMON  ISM   AND   THE   MORMONS 

They  do  not  question  the  truth  of  "revelations" 
made  to  their  leaders.  They  are  absolutely  assured 
that  all  truth  is  with  them,  and  the  rest  of  the  world 
is  wrong.  They  regard  themselves  as  the  chosen  of 
God,  a  peculiar  people,  basking  in  the  sunshine  of 
the  Divine  favor  continually.  Such  assurance  seems 
to  us  ridiculous,  but  it  is  their  religion,  and  they 
believe  it  with  all  their  hearts. 

They  give  one-tenth  of  all  they  make  to  the  sup- 
port of  the  church.  Hence,  as  a  Corporation  they 
are  enormously  rich.  In  Pocatello,  Idaho,  I  was 
entertained  by  a  railroad  superintendent,  who  was 
receiving  thirty-five  hundred  dollars  a  year  and  who 
contributed  three  dollars  a  month  to  the  support  of 
his  parish,  and  thought  himself  very  generous.  His 
Mormon  servant,  a  young  man,  whom  he  paid  forty- 
five  dollars  a  month,  told  me  that  he  gladly  gave 
four  and  a  half  dollars  each  month  to  the  church, 
and  that  did  not  include  his  free-will  offerings. 

The  Mormon  question  will  gradually  settle  itself. 
Its  immediate  future  will  be  largely  influenced  by 
the  attitude  of  our  people  and  the  government  tow- 
ards it.  Contact  with  the  w^orld  will  soften  and 
gradually  purify  and  cleanse  its  worst  features. 
Often  Mormonism  has  been  misjudged.  Religious 
fanaticism  under  the  name  of  Christianity  has  not 
infrequently  done  more  harm  than  good  in  dealing 
with  these  strange,  deluded  people.  The  Mormons 
are  a  small  body,  numbering  less  than  a  half-million. 
They  are  below  the  average  of  Americans  in  intelli- 

237 


MY   PEOPLE   OF   THE    PLAINS 

gence,  but  they  are  destined  to  become  American 
citizens,  and  ought  to  be  encouraged  to  enter  into 
the  spirit  and  genius  of  American  citizenship. 
They  are  progressing  rapidly  in  enHghtenment,  and 
every  year  marks  a  great  gain.  With  all  their 
faults,  they  are  our  brethren — human  beings  whose 
chief  misfortime  is  that  they  are  walking  in  dark- 
ness.    Let  us  bring  them  to  see  the  light. 

The  individual  Mormon  is  far  better  than  his  re- 
ligion. His  religion  is  a  strange  mixture  of  truth 
and  error,  of  superstition  and  grotesque  fiction.  It 
is  a  sort  of  perverted  and  corrupted  Christianity. 
But  having  lived  among  the  Mormons,  and  coming 
more  or  less  into  contact  with  them,  socially  and 
religiously,  I  am  prepared  to  say  that  as  friends, 
neighbors,  citizens,  and  members  of  society,  the  Mor- 
mon of  to-day  is  greatly  in  advance  of  Mormonism 
as  a  religious  system.  In  the  common  instincts  of 
humanity  the  present-day  Mormon  resembles  very 
closely  other  people.  He  is  a  good  husband  and 
father.  He  is  honest  and  truthful.  He  rarely,  if 
ever,  indulges  even  in  tobacco,  and  never  drinks; 
for  temperance,  meaning  total  abstinence,  is  a 
foundation  pillar  in  his  faith.  No  one  ever  thinks 
of  locking  his  door  at  night  when  among  the  Mor- 
mons, and  nowhere  is  the  personal  safety  of  the  in- 
dividual or  the  security  of  his  property  more  abso- 
lutely guaranteed.  They  love  each  other,  and  treat 
their  Gentile  friends  with  uniform  courtesy  and  re- 
spectful consideration.     They  pay  the  greatest  rev- 

238 


MORMONISM  AND  THE  MORMONS 

erence  to  those  in  authority  over  them,  and  cherish 
the  profoundest  respect  for  the  memory  of  their 
dead  heroes,  saints,  and  martyrs. 

Mormonism  will  survive,  but  not  the  Mormonism 
of  to-day — still  less  that  of  twenty-five  years  ago. 
Some  day  it  will  be  so  changed  and  modified  with 
the  leaven  of  the  Christian  Gospel  that  it  will  be  re- 
spectable among  the  various  religious  bodies  of  the 
land.  Not  denunciation,  not  persecution,  not  blind 
and  undiscriminating  hatred  and  prejudice,  but  the 
spirit  of  a  wise,  gentle,  Christian  judgment  will 
hasten  the  day  of  its  renaissance  and  reform  into  a 
purer  environment. 

If  the  Christian  people  of  this  great  republic,  the 
churches  with  money  and  the  broad-minded  philan- 
thropists among  us,  really  wish  to  help  solve  the 
Mormon  problem,  let  them  turn  on  the  light  and 
thus  help  us  to  drive  away  the  darkness.  Let  a 
Christian  church  be  built  in  every  town  and  in  every 
village.  And  then,  for  this  is  scarcely  less  impor- 
tant, let  these  churches  be  in  the  control  of  men  of 
broad-minded  and  generous  sympathy.  The  petty, 
narrow,  bigoted  man,  who  is  the  ecclesiastic  and 
nothing  more,  will  do  harm  rather  than  good.  But 
for  the  man  who  can  get  at  his  Mormon  brother's 
point  of  view,  and  is  big  enough  to  believe  him  just 
as  honest  and  just  as  sincere  as  himself,  there  is 
abundant  opportunity  for  a  helpful  and  illuminat- 
ing work.  Then  schools  are  needed.  Let  the 
church    plant    and    generously    sustain    Christian 

239 


MY  PEOPLE   OF  THE   PLAINS 

schools,  with  teachers  who  have  loving  hearts  and 
much  faith.  Where,  finally,  would  well  -  selected 
libraries  to  attract  the  young  people,  now  at  last 
wakening  up  to  the  privileges  of  culture  and  educa- 
tion, do  a  more  blessed  work?  The  night  is  far 
spent,  the  day  is  almost  at  hand. 


CHAPTER   XVI 
THE    RED-MAN   AND    UNCLE   SAM 

IN  the  missionary  district  allotted  to  me  as  bishop, 
comprising  the  whole  of  Wyoming  and  Idaho, 
there  were  several  Indian  reservations.  In  Wyo- 
ming there  was  the  Wind  River  Reservation,  ceded 
by  solemn  contract  to  the  Indians  by  our  govern- 
ment nearly  forty  years  ago.  The  reservation  in- 
cluded within  its  area  a  large  body  of  land  in  the 
valley  of  the  Wind  River  in  central  Wyoming,  ex- 
tending about  one  hundred  miles  north  and  south 
and  an  equal  distance  east  and  west,  or  ten  thou- 
sand square  miles  altogether,  making  a  total  of  over 
six  millions  of  acres.  Parts  of  two  tribes  were  lo- 
cated on  this  magnificent  domain  —  namely,  the 
Shoshones,  to  whom  was  assigned  the  northern,  and 
the  Arapahoes,  who  occupied  the  southern  half. 
As  these  tribes  had  been  to  a  certain  extent  hered- 
itary foes,  some  apprehension  was  felt  lest  their  close 
proximity  might  lead  to  a  renewal  of  hostilities. 
But  it  is  a  pleasant  duty  to  record  that,  on  the  whole, 
their  relations  have  been  friendly,  although  each  has 
steadfastly  maintained  its  tribal  exclusiveness  and 
has  as  little  dealings  one  with  the  other  as  possible. 

241 


MY   PEOPLE   OF  THE   PLAINS 

No  Arapahoe  maiden  would  think  of  wedding  a 
Shoshone  youth,  or  vice  versa.  It  goes  without 
saying  that  each  tribe  is  proudly  conscious  of  its 
vast  superiority  to  the  other,  and  is  wont  to  regard 
its  neighbor  with  ill-disguised  contempt. 

Both  can  justly  boast  of  a  history  replete  with 
heroic  achievements  and  martial  deeds.  Both  have 
given  birth  to  noted  chieftains  whose  valor  still  in- 
spires them.  Few  Indian  warriors  have  been  more 
worthy  of  admiration  and  won  their  leadership  by 
greater  inherent  power  and  genius  than  Black  Coal, 
of  the  Arapahoes,  or  the  venerable  Washakie,  of  the 
Shoshones. 

In  physical  form  and  feature  the  contrast  be- 
tween the  two  tribes  is  quite  marked,  so  that  even 
a  casual  observer  soon  learns  to  discriminate  the 
one  from  the  other.  The  Arapahoe  is  uniformly 
taller,  with  a  face  rather  more  open  and  intelligent 
than  the  Shoshone ;  while  the  latter  is  more  stolid, 
and  in  countenance  suggests  the  cunning  and 
rather  secretive  traits,  combined  with  courage,  for 
which  he  is  famous. 

The  religious  care  of  these  two  tribes  was  com- 
mitted by  General  Grant  to  the  Episcopal  Church 
when  he  parcelled  out  the  various  reservations 
among  the  churches  during  his  administration. 
While  this  distribution  on  the  part  of  the  President 
was  intended  to  be  fair,  and  aimed  to  provide  for 
the  spiritual  interests  of  the  Indians,  it  did  not  give 
permanent  and  exclusive  control  to  any  religious 

242 


y, 


M 
H 

O 
•y. 


X 

2 

> 


i 


X 


THE  RED  MAN  AND  UNCLE  SAM 

body.  Hence,  as  time  advanced,  the  Roman  Cath- 
olics have  been  led  to  establish  a  mission  and  school 
among  the  Arapuhoes  which  has  accomplished  ex- 
cellent results. 

During  my  episcopate  in  the  West  it  was  my 
privilege  to  erect  a  large  school  building  for  the 
education  of  Indian  girls.  The  money  to  se^ 
cure  this  result  was  given  in  response  to  my  ap- 
peals to  Christian  friends  of  the  Indian  in  the 
East. 

When  at  last  the  success  of  the  enterprise  had 
been  assured,  a  day  was  appointed  for  the  laying  of 
the  corner-stone.  The  Indians  naturally  felt  very 
grateful  to  me  for  my  interest  in  the  education  of 
their  children,  and  proposed  to  celebrate  the  corner- 
stone-laying by  giving  me  a  feast.  The  two  chiefs, 
Washakie  and  Black  Coal,  therefore  waited  on  the 
Indian  agent  and  laid  the  matter  before  him.  They 
told  him  that  the  big  chief  of  the  White  Robes  (re- 
ferring to  me)  had  secured  funds  wherewith  to  build 
them  a  school  for  their  children  and  their  childrens' 
children;  and  that  he  was  coming  on  a  certain  Sat- 
urday to  lay  the  corner-stone;  that  they  proposed 
to  give  the  bishop  a  banquet  in  recognition  of  his 
kindness,  and  that  they  had  come  to  him  to  ask 
him  for  the  oxen  for  the  bishop's  feast.  Cattle  on 
the  reservation  belonging  to  the  government  could 
only  be  killed  by  the  agent's  consent. 

"How  many  oxen  do  you  wish  to  kill  for  the 
bishop?"  the  agent  inquired. 

17  243 


MY   PEOPLE   OF  THE   PLAINS 

"Three,"  said  the  chiefs.  "The  bishop  heap  big 
man.     He  heap  eat." 

"Very  well,"  said  the  agent,  "you  may  kill  three 
oxen  for  the  bishop." 

The  feast  itself  was  a  memorable  affair.  Both 
tribes  were  largely  represented.  Of  course,  I  had  to 
make  a  speech.  But  as  I  could  not  speak  a  word 
of  Arapahoe  or  of  Shoshone,  and  my  audience 
could  not  understand  English,  I  had  to  have  two 
interpreters,  one  for  each  tribe.  The  Rev.  John 
Roberts,  my  faithful  missionary,  suggested  to  me 
that  it  would  be  well  if  I  should  write  out  my 
speech  in  full.  He  also  tried  to  impress  upon  my 
mind  the  necessity  of  using  the  very  simplest  lan- 
guage and  of  being  exceedingly  brief.  I  therefore 
sat  down  and  expressed  as  plainly  as  I  could  on 
paper  my  pleasure  in  being  present  on  such  an  auspi- 
cious occasion,  and  hoped  that  the  proposed  school 
building  would  prove  a  great  blessing  to  their  chil- 
dren, and  that  the  parents  would  see  to  it  that  all 
their  little  ones  secured  a  good  education.  I  also 
reminded  them  that  religion  and  the  love  of  God 
would  be  taught  there  so  that  their  girls  would  be- 
come good  and  useful  wives  and  mothers. 

After  I  had  finished,  the  clergyman,  with  great 
hesitation  and  modesty,  asked  if  he  could  read  what 
I  had  written.  I  shall  never  forget  the  look  of 
hopeless  despair  that  spread  over  his  countenance 
as  he  proceeded.     At  last  he  said: 

"Bishop,  will  you  pardon  my  prcsumi:)tion  if  I 

244 


THE  RED  MAN  AND  UNCLE  SAM 

say  that  this  will  never  do  ?  The  sentiments  are  all 
right,  but  the  interpreters  know  but  little  English, 
and  they  will  never  be  able  to  understand  your 
language." 

I  begged  him  to  run  his  pencil  through  the  manu- 
script, and  simplify  and  change  it  as  he  thought 
best.  When  he  handed  it  back  to  me  I  felt  like  a 
school-boy  whose  first  composition  had  been  cor- 
rected by  the  teacher.  Even  with  all  his  care  I 
had  a  difficult  time  of  it.  It  was  possible  to  utter  a 
few  words  only  at  a  time  and  then  pause ;  when  first 
the  Arapahoe  interpreter  struggled  with  it,  and  as 
soon  as  the  meaning  had  fully  dawned  upon  his  in- 
telligence, he  w^ould  turn  around  and  translate  it  to 
his  people.  Then  I  had  to  repeat  slowly  the  same 
simple  words  to  the  Shoshone  interpreter,  who 
would  go  through  a  similar  performance,  and  the 
aid  of  the  missionary  would  frequently  be  necessary 
to  illuminate  the  meaning.  I  was  most  grateful 
that  my  speech  was  no  longer,  for  it  seemed  an  in- 
terminable length  of  time  before  I  got  through. 
But  the  loud  grunts  and  exclamations  of  approval 
with  w^hich  they  punctuated  my  sentences  as  I  pro- 
ceeded gave  me  no  little  encouragement. 

At  the  close  of  the  function  the  big  chiefs  came 
up  and  extended  their  hands  to  thank  me  for  all 
that  had  been  done. 

The  mention  of  this  school  leads  me  to  say  that 
the  government  has  made  and  is  making  most  lib- 
eral provision  for  the  education  of  the  red-man. 

245 


MY   PEOPLE   OF   THE   PLAINS 

On  nearly  all  the  reservations  large  and  well- 
equipped  stone  or  brick  school-houses  have  been 
erected,  and  the  law  of  compulsory  education, 
strictly  enforced,  brings  the  elements  of  a  good 
common -school  education  within  the  reach  of  all. 
In  many  instances  boarding  and  day  schools  are 
conducted  by  the  various  religious  bodies,  thus  sup- 
plementing the  excellent  work  of  the  government 
schools  and  imparting  to  the  young  a  knowledge  of 
Christian  truth. 

Moreover,  it  is  frequently  the  aim  of  these  schools 
to  teach  not  only  the  text-books  usually  pursued, 
but  also  to  impart  much  useful  technical  knowledge. 
The  boys  are  made  familiar  with  the  use  of  tools 
and  taken  through  a  course  of  manual-training,  and 
also  taught  the  scientific  principles  of  farming. 
The  girls  are  instructed,  under  kind  and  competent 
teachers,  to  cut  out  and  make  garments,  to  make 
lace,  to  cook  and  wash,  and  to  be  neat  and  orderly 
in  their  habits.  Indeed,  with  both  sexes  the  ob- 
ject constantly  aimed  at  is  to  send  forth  the  young 
from  the  schools  fitted  and  equipped  to  support 
themselves,  and  to  take  their  places  in  American 
life  and  civilization  as  useful  members  of  society. 

So  far  as  the  education  of  the  young  is  concerned, 
I  do  not  hesitate  to  say  that  no  criticism  can  justly 
lie  against  the  United  States  government  as  to  its 
attitude  towards  that  important  question.  When 
one  considers  how  excellent  the  schools  are,  and 
how  wise  and  generous  the  provisions  of  the  State 

246 


THE  RED  MAN  AND  UNCLE  SAM 

for  the  education  of  the  children,  he  is  led  to  wonder 
at  the  very  slow  progress  the  Indian  has  made  for 
the  last  fifty  years  along  the  path  of  independence 
and  self-support. 

Why,  then,  has  not  the  red-man  advanced  more 
rapidly  ? 

In  answering  this  question  I  do  not  hesitate  to 
say  that  the  reservation  system  adopted  by  our 
government  is  largely  responsible  for  the  fact  that 
the  Indian  has  practically  stood  still — retaining  his 
savage  habits  and  customs  and  acquiring  little 
knowledge  to  aid  him  in  the  struggle  of  life.  In- 
deed, by  this  system  he  has  been  kept  in  ignorance 
of  the  problem  of  self-support.  It  ought  to  have 
been  apparent  to  our  government  that  any  race, 
overpowered  by  a  stronger  and  more  intelligent 
race,  constantly  driven  to  sections  more  and  more 
isolated,  their  means  of  subsistence  destroyed  and 
the  inferior  race  finally  disarmed  and  fenced  in,  and 
kept  apart  by  themselves,  where  in  order  to  live 
they  must  be  fed  and  clothed  and  cared  for  like  so 
many  prisoners  or  slaves,  must  inevitably  remain  in 
statu  quo.  That  has  been  the  policy  of  our  govern- 
ment. We  have  said  to  the  red-man:  "You  are  not 
fit  for  citizenship  and  the  responsibilities  of  civilized 
life.  You  are  a  lot  of  treacherous  and  dangerous 
savages,  and  we  propose  to  keep  you  from  harming 
us  by  driving  you  as  far  as  we  can  from  the  haunts 
of  decent  men,  and  then  penning  you  in  by  yourselves 
and  keeping  you  there.     If  you  leave  your  reserva- 

247 


MY   PEOPLE    OF   THE    PLAINS 

tion  we  shall  drive  you  back  at  the  point  of  the 
bayonet.  We  shall  not  allow  the  white  man  to 
come  near  you  or  disturb  you,  and  you  shall  have 
no  contact  with  him.  To  keep  you  quiet,  we  will 
clothe  you  and  feed  you  at  no  cost  whatever  to 
yourselves.  To  eat  and  sleep  and  stay  within  your 
pens  is  all  we  ask  of  you." 

To  our  national  shame,  it  must  be  said  that  we 
have  frequently  broken  faith  with  these  poor  peo- 
ple, and  demoralizing  and  wretched  as  was  our  con- 
tract with  them,  we  have  not  always  kept  it.  Again 
and  again  as  the  tide  of  population  has  gone  west- 
ward the  Indian  reservation  has  been  surrounded 
by  the  farms  and  villages  of  the  white  man,  and  the 
government  has  yielded  to  the  greed  and  rapacity 
of  our  people,  and  has  said  to  the  red-man:  "These 
lands  of  yours  are  very  valuable,  and  we  need  them 
for  our  own  people.  You  must  move  farther  west. 
We  shall  give  you  a  new  reservation,  and  you  must 
sell  this  one.  The  money  shall  be  yours,  and  with 
it  we  shall  build  you  schools  and  supply  you  with 
farming  implements."  And  so  the  guileless  and 
untutored  ward  of  Uncle  Sam  has  pulled  up  stakes 
and  moved  on,  realizing  that  to  resist  would  be  ut- 
terly unavailing.  And  so  it  has  happened  that  the 
American  Indian  has  been  transformed  from  a  sav- 
age brave  and  fearless  and  free,  full  of  adventure 
and  rejoicing  in  his  wild  and  nomadic  life,  to  a  sav- 
age broken  in  spirit,  cringing  before  the  white  man 
whom  he  has  been  taught  to  hate  and  distrust, 

248 


THE  RED  MAN  AND  UNCLE  SAM 

every  motive  and  means  of  improvement  deliber- 
ately taken  from  him.  Can  we  blame  him  for  not 
learning  our  ways  when  by  our  own  act  we  segre- 
gate him  completely  from  us  and  keep  him  where 
he  has  no  chance  even  of  observing  how  the  white 
man  lives? 

Granted  that  in  the  earlier  years  of  our  contact 
with  the  Indian  it  was  for  a  time  necessary  to  keep 
him  thus  separate  to  save  him  from  extermination, 
surely  no  one  will  now  claim  that  it  was  either 
necessary,  or  wise,  or  statesmanlike  to  perpetuate 
such  a  system  anywhere,  one  day  longer  than  the 
best  interests  of  the  Indian  justified.  No  people  on 
the  face  of  the  earth  so  treated  could  help  being 
demoralized  and  losing  their  self-respect.  The 
wonder  is  that  after  so  many  decades  of  such  treat- 
ment on  our  part  they  are  not  hopelessly  ruined. 

The  late  Bishop  Whipple,  of  Minnesota,  who  gave 
much  of  his  life  during  the  earlier  years  of  his  epis- 
copate to  the  Indian  cause,  said:  "I  submit  to 
every  man  the  question,  whether  the  time  has  not 
come  for  a  nation  to  hear  the  cry  of  wrong,  if  not 
for  the  sake  of  the  heathen,  then  for  the  sake  of  the 
memory  of  our  friends  whose  bones  are  bleaching 
on  our  prairies."  Nearly  a  half -century  ago  Helen 
Hunt  Jackson  closed  the  preface  of  her  Century  of 
Dishonor  with  these  words:  "It  is  a  shame  w^hich 
the  American  nation  ought  not  to  lie  under,  for  the 
American  people,  as  a  people,  are  not  unjust.  If 
there  be  one  thing  which  they  believe  in  more  than 

249 


MY   PEOPLE   OF   THE   PLAINS 

any  other,  and  mean  that  every  man  on  this  con- 
tinent shall  have,  it  is  fair-play.  And  as  soon  as 
they  fairly  understand  how  cruelly  it  has  been  de- 
nied to  the  Indian,  they  will  rise  up  and  demand  it 
for  him." 

Has  the  reservation  system  been  abandoned? 

That  the  government  has  slowly  been  awakened 
to  the  injustice  of  the  system  so  inevitably  calcu- 
lated to  demoralize  the  Indian  and  rob  him  of  all 
prospect  of  self-support  and  self-respect,  we  may 
now  confidently  assert.  A  better  day  is  dawning 
for  this  unfortunate  people.  The  policy  of  the  gov- 
ernment as  now  plainly  and  positively  announced  is 
to  break  up  the  reservations.  The  method  adopted 
in  brief  is  the  following:  A  commission  is  appointed 
by  the  government  to  reside  on  the  several  reserva- 
tions and  confer  with  the  Indians  until  a  satisfac- 
tory adjustment  can  be  arrived  at.  One  hundred 
and  sixty  acres  of  land  are  allotted  to  the  head  of 
the  family  and  eighty  acres  in  addition  to  each 
member  of  the  family.  These  allotments  are  not 
made  arbitrarily  but  in  furtherance  of  the  indi- 
vidual preference  of  the  Indians  in  each  case. 
After  all  the  land  has  thus  been  allotted,  in  sever- 
alty, to  the  various  families  on  the  reservation,  there 
is,  of  course,  a  very  large  acreage  of  unallotted  land 
to  be  sold  to  the  highest  bidder.  The  government 
wisely  superintends  the  sale  of  the  Indian  lands, 
and  the  proceeds  go  into  a  fund  for  the  benefit  of 
the  tribe.     Such  objects  as  schools,  farming  imple- 

250 


THE  RED  MAN  AND  UNCLE  SAM 

mcnts,  irrigating  ditches  and  better  equipment  gen- 
erally being  ehiefly  considered. 

Worthy  Indians  have  nothing  to  fear  and  much 
to  hope  for  from  the  proximity  of  the  white  man 
settled  and  domiciled  in  large  numbers  in  his  very 
midst,  his  rights  being  safeguarded  by  the  paternal 
interest  and  care  of  Uncle  Sam.  The  Indian  Office 
in  Washington,  through  its  Indian  resident  repre- 
sentative, now  called  superintendent,  and  special 
disbursing  agent  and  his  employes,  is  doing  all  in 
its  power,  sparing  neither  money  or  means  to  aid 
and  encourage  the  Indians  to  build  up  their  home 
farms  and  ranches.  The  material  aid  which  will  at 
first  be  given  will  not  long  be  needed,  but  the  super- 
vision of  the  superintendent  and  his  assistants  will 
be  required  for  some  years  to  come. 

In  the  case  of  the  reservations  with  which  I  am 
personally  familiar,  the  very  anticipation  of  having 
their  lands  divided  up,  in  severalty,  has  had  a  most 
wholesome  effect.  There  the  majority  of  the  Ind- 
ians have  already  learned  or  are  steadily  learning 
to  adopt  the  white  men's  habits  as  to  farming  and 
taking  care  of  themselves.  Many  of  them  have 
good  farms,  with  crops  of  from  ten  to  twenty  acres 
of  grain,  and  in  some  instances  far  more,  with  an 
equal  amount  of  hay. 

Despite  the  discouraging  conditions  to  which  I 
have  alluded,  the  cause  of  religion  and  morality  has 
been  much  advanced  among  the  Indians.  For  this 
result  much  credit  must  be  given  the  government 

251 


MY   PEOPLE   OF   THE   PLAINS 

schools,  where  inteUigent  and  sympathetic  teachers 
have  done  much  to  elevate  the  tone  of  their  pupils. 
The  efforts  of  the  government  in  this  direction  have 
also  been  largely  reinforced  by  the  various  churches 
whose  educational  work  has  been  noteworthy. 

Polygamy,  which  was  formerly  prevalent,  is  now 
forbidden  by  the  Indian  Office.  While  the  older 
couples  who  have  lived  as  man  and  wife  for  many 
years  are  advised  to  be  legally  united  in  marriage, 
the  younger  people  are  not  allowed  to  marry  other- 
wise than  in  due  form  and  after  license  issued  by 
the  United  States  superintendent. 

The  whole  country  is  to  be  congratulated  in  hav- 
ing as  the  commissioner  of  Indian  affairs,  so  sane 
and  efficient  and  sympathetic  a  friend  of  the  red- 
man  as  Mr.  Francis  Leupp.  It  is  no  disparagement 
to  any  of  his  predecessors  in  that  most  important 
office  —  and  some  of  them  have  been  excellent 
Christian  gentlemen — to  say  that  in  Mr,  Leupp  the 
government  has  a  representative  who  really  knows 
the  Indian  problem  and  how  to  handle  it,  and  who 
also  has  the  courage  of  his  convictions.  He  has 
gained  his  knowledge  not  by  reading  sentimental 
books  about  Indian  wrongs,  but  by  twenty  years  of 
intimate  contact  with  the  red-man  himself.  His 
splendid  gifts  are  consecrated  to  the  cause  of  amel- 
iorating the  condition  of  this  unhappy  people,  and 
his  method  is  as  widely  differentiated  from  that  of 
his  predecessors  as  day  from  night. 

It  is  the  method  which  has  for  its  underlying 

252 


THE  RED  MAN  AND  UNCLE  SAM 

motive  the  conviction  that  the  Indian  must  become, 
as  soon  as  possible,  no  longer  a  distinct  and  separate 
charge  upon  the  government,  an  unassimilated  race 
having  no  part  in  its  affairs,  but  thoroughly  identi- 
fied with  its  life  and  work.  To  this  end  he  would 
have  him  learn  to  labor  and  pay  for  his  own  bread 
by  the  sweat  of  his  brow.  Here  are  some  of  his 
practical  suggestions :  He  says,  "  As  fast  as  an  Ind- 
ian of  either  mixed  or  full  blood  is  capable  of  tak- 
ing care  of  himself  it  is  our  duty  to  set  him  upon  his 
feet  and  sever  forever  the  ties  which  bind  him 
either  to  his  tribe — in  the  communal  sense — or  to 
the  government.  This  principle  must  become  op- 
erative in  respect  to  both  land  and  money.  We 
must  end  the  un-American  absurdity  of  keeping  one 
class  of  our  people  in  a  condition  of  so  many  un- 
divided portions  of  a  common  lump.  Each  Indian 
must  be  recognized  as  an  individual  and  so  treated, 
just  as  each  white  man  is.  .  .  .  Thanks  to  the  late 
Henry  L.  Dawes,  of  Massachusetts,  we  have  for 
eighteen  years  been  individualizing  the  Indian  as 
an  owner  of  real  estate  by  breaking  up,  one  at  a 
time,  the  reservations  set  apart  for  whole  tribes 
and  establishing  each  Indian  as  a  separate  land- 
holder on  his  own  account:  thanks  to  John  F. 
Lacey,  of  Iowa,  I  hope  that  we  shall  soon  be  mak- 
ing the  same  sort  of  division  of  the  tribal  funds. 
At  first,  of  course,  the  government  must  keep  its 
protecting  hand  on  every  Indian's  property  after  it 
has  been  assigned  to  him  by  book  and  deed;  then 

253 


MY   PEOPLE   OF  THE   PLAINS 

as  one  or  another  shows  himself  capable  of  passing 
out  from  under  this  tutelage  he  should  be  set  fully 
free  and  given  'the  white  man's  chance,'  with  the 
white  man's  obligation  to  balance  it. 

"  Finally,  we  must  strive  in  every  way  possible  to 
make  the  Indian  an  active  factor  in  the  up-building 
of  the  community  in  which  he  is  going  to  live.  The 
local  frontier  theory  that  he  is  a  sort  of  necessary 
nuisance,  surviving  from  a  remote  period,  like  the 
sage-brush  and  the  giant  cactus,  must  be  dispelled, 
and  the  way  to  dispel  it  is  to  turn  him  into  a  posi- 
tive benefit.  In  short,  our  aim  ought  to  be  to  keep 
him  moving  steadily  down  the  path  which  leads 
from  his  close  domain  of  artificial  restraints  and 
artificial  protection  towards  the  broad  area  of  in- 
dividual liberty  enjoyed  by  the  ordinary  citizen. 
The  process  of  general  readjustment  must  be  grad- 
ual, but  it  should  be  carried  forward  as  fast  as  it 
can  be  with  presumptive  security  for  the  Indian's 
little  possessions.  .  .  .  The  leading-strings  which 
have  tied  the  Indian  to  the  Treasury  ever  since  he 
began  to  own  anything  of  value  have  been  a  curse 
to  him.  They  have  kept  him  an  economic  nursling 
long  past  the  time  when  he  ought  to  have  been  able 
to  take  a  few  steps  alone.  The  tendency  of  what- 
ever crude  training  in  money  matters  he  has  had 
for  the  last  half -century  has  been  towards  making 
him  an  easy  victim  to  such  waves  of  civic  heresy  as 
swept  over  the  country  in  the  early  nineties.  That 
is  not  the  sort  of  politics  into  which  we  wish  the 

254 


THE  RED  MAN  AND  UNCLE  SAM 

Indian  to  plunge  as  he  assumes  the  responsibilities 
of  citizenship." 

Agreeably  to  this  most  sensible  policy,  the  allot- 
ment of  land  to  each  Indian  on  the  Wind  River 
Reservation  is  now  practically  completed.  A  few  of 
the  disaffected  old-timers  have  refused  to  accept 
allotments,  but  in  every  case  their  wives  and  chil- 
dren have  taken  them,  so  that  there  are  only  a  few 
without  allotments. 

The  land  is  selected  by  the  Indians  themselves. 
To  those  few  who  have  refused  to  select,  allotments 
will  probably  be  assigned.  There  is  plenty  of  good 
land  for  all,  and  when  the  diminished  or  unsold  por- 
tion of  the  reservation  is  thrown  open  to  settlement, 
according  to  the  present  policy  of  the  government, 
there  will  be  thousands  of  acres  of  good  land  left  to 
be  located  by  settlers. 

The  ceded  portion  of  the  Shoshone  Reservation 
was  thrown  open  to  settlement  on  August  15,  1906. 
The  effect  cannot  but  be  beneficial  to  the  Indian  in 
every  way.  First,  in  that  it  will  bring  civilization 
nearer  his  home  and  give  him  constantly  an  object- 
lesson  as  to  modern  methods  of  agriculture,  and  the 
care  of  stock,  and  the  thrift  of  the  white  man  gen- 
erally. 

Again,  the  sale  of  these  surplus  lands  will  provide 
means  for  the  improvement  of  the  Indians'  allotments 
in  the  way  of  funds  for  the  construction  of  irrigating 
canals  and  ditches  for  their  farms,  one  hundred  and 
fifty  thousand  dollars  of  the  purchase-money  having 

255 


MY   PEOPLE   OF   THE   PLAINS 

been  set  aside  by  the  treaty  for  that  one  purpose. 
Fifty  thousand  dollars  of  the  same  funds  have  been 
appropriated  for  schools.  The  balance  is  to  be  used 
to  constitute  a  general  welfare  and  improvement 
fund  to  be  expended  for  the  benefit  of  the  Indians 
in  the  way  they  may  in  council  direct  and  the 
secretary  of  the  interior  may  approve.  The  Ind- 
ians on  this  reservation  will  also  be  made  glad  this 
fall  by  the  distribution  of  fifty  dollars  in  cash  per 
capita. 

Thousands  of  dollars  have  already  been  expended 
by  the  government  in  the  construction  of  irrigating 
canals  and  ditches  for  the  Indian  allotments,  and 
this  year  one  hundred  thousand  dollars  more  is 
available  for  the  same  purpose.  This  money  is  ad- 
vanced by  the  government,  to  be  refunded  by  the 
proceeds  of  the  sale  of  lands  already  ceded. 

Moreover,  every  allotment  of  arable  land  made  to 
an  Indian  is  either  now  or  will  be  ere  long  under 
ditch  so  that  it  can  be  irrigated.  The  canals  and 
lateral  ditches  are  being  constructed  by  the  Indians 
themselves,  with  their  teams,  under  the  supervision 
of  experienced  engineers.  Great  numbers  of  Ind- 
ians of  both  tribes  are  at  this  present  moment 
thus  employed  under  pay  of  one  dollar  and  a  half 
per  day  and  three  dollar  per  day  for  man  and  team. 

It  would  not  be  possible  to  place  all  the  reserva- 
tion under  ditch.  The  western  line  or  boundary  is 
the  summit  of  the  main  range  of  the  Rocky  Moun- 
tains or  Continental  Divide.     But  what  cannot  be 

256 


THE  RED  MAN  AND  UNCLE  SAM 

irrigated  is  valuable  timber  or  grazing  land,  con- 
taining also  much  mineral  and  coal  and  oil. 

When  the  reservation  was  set  apart  for  the 
Shoshones,  Chief  Washakie  insisted  on  having 
mountains  and  rivers  as  boundaries.  When  it  was 
suggested  to  him  by  the  United  States  commissioners 
sent  out  to  treat  with  him  that  the  future  home  of 
his  tribe  would  be  defined  by  latitude  and  longitude, 
or,  as  they  tried  to  explain  to  Washakie,  by  the 
stars,  the  veteran  chief  replied  with  a  twinkle  in  his 
eye:  "By-and-by,  by-and-by,  I  hope  we  may  all 
meet  there" — pointing  heavenward — "but,  for  the 
present,  give  me  mountains  and  rivers  for  the 
boundaries  of  my  home." 

Is  the  Indian  religious  ?  Undoubtedly.  There  is 
no  race  by  nature  more  deeply  religious  than  the 
red-man.  Religion,  as  he  conceives  it,  enters  into 
every  relation  of  life.  This  is  far  from  saying  that 
he  is  a  Christian  as  yet.  But  it  may  be  asserted 
without  fear  of  contradiction  that  the  story  of  the 
cross  appeals  strongly  to  his  imagination,  and  he 
yields  himself  readily  to  the  power  and  fascination 
of  the  Gospel  of  Christ.  Among  the  marvels  of 
Christian  triumph  during  the  last  half-century  none 
is  more  remarkable  than  the  great  work  of  evan- 
gelization accomplished  by  Bishop  Hare  among  the 
twenty  thousand  Sioux  in  South  Dakota.  He  has 
scores  of  congregations,  with  native  Indian  cate- 
chists  and  clergy,  and  their  progress  in  all  that  goes 
to  make  earnest  and  faithful  disciples  of  Christ  is 

257 


MY   PEOPLE   OF  THE   PLAINS 

beyond  question.  Of  course,  it  takes  time  and 
much  faith  and  patience  to  accomplish  such  results. 
Bishop  Hare  has  been  among  the  Sioux  for  over 
thirty  years.  In  their  native  faith,  before  they  ac- 
cept Christianity,  there  are  certain  general  beliefs, 
but  the  religious  practices  of  the  various  tribes 
differ  more  or  less. 

The  Shoshones  are  rather  more  superstitious  than 
religious.  They  are  not  as  devout  natiirally  as 
some  other  tribes,  but  light-hearted,  happy-go-lucky 
people,  who  take  even  death  with  a  laugh.  The 
Arapahoes,  on  the  other  hand,  are  far  more  re- 
ligious and  devout,  confidently  believing  that  they, 
and  they  alone,  are  God's  chosen  people,  heirs  of 
salvation  and  of  the  life  everlasting  in  "our  home." 
Indeed,  in  many  respects  their  religion  is  similar  to 
that  of  the  Old  Testament  and  God's  covenant  with 
the  children  of  Israel.  They  have  the  story  of  the 
creation,  the  entrance  of  death  into  the  world,  and 
the  promise  of  redemption.  They  also  believe  in  the 
resurrection  of  the  body  and  eternal  life.  Moreover, 
they  look  for  a  savior  of  their  race.  Their  religious 
ceremonies  and  sacred  rites  remind  one  forcibly  of  the 
ancient  Hebrews  and  of  the  idolatry  of  the  Canaan- 
ites  combined.  They  are  without  doubt  the  remnant 
of  an  ancient  people  who,  according  to  their  own 
traditions,  crossed  over  from  the  "old  earth"  to 
this  "new  earth"  by  way  of  the  northwest,  passing 
over  frozen  water.  They  came  hither  to  escape  op- 
pression; for  their  country  was  taken,  they  them- 

258 


X 

o 

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O 
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tn 
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C 


THE  RED  MAN  AND  UNCLE  SAM 

selves  were  cruelly  treated,  and  their  children  slain 
by  "strangers,"  the  Gentiles.  This  is  the  name  by 
which  they  now  designate  the  whites.  The  word 
"  pale  face  "  has  no  place  in  their  language  or  in  that 
of  the  Shoshones,  nor  have  the  expressions  "great 
spirit,"  "happy  hunting-ground,"  and  other  time- 
honored  phrases. 

The  Shoshones  have  a  simple  religion.  They  call 
the  Creator  "Our  Father,"  and  believe  in  the  trans- 
migration of  souls  after  death  in  the  land  beyond 
the  setting  sun,  which  they  claim  is  their  home. 
They  formerly  practised  suttee,  but  now  the 
favorite  horse  of  the  deceased  is  claimed  instead  of 
the  widow.  Their  dominant  religious  conviction, 
however,  is  the  constant  dread  of  a  visible  demon, 
manikin  in  shape.  Their  medicine-men  claim  to  see 
him,  and  he  shoots  at  them  with  flint-tipped  arrows. 
All  their  misfortunes  and  illnesses  they  ascribe  to 
this  nemesis.  This  superstition  probably  had  its 
origin  in  the  existence  of  a  pygmy  race  of  aborigines 
concerning  whom  both  tribes  have  definite  and  re- 
liable traditions.  A  great  many  of  their  customs  are 
identical  with  those  of  the  East  Indians  or  Hindus 
given  by  Abbe  Dubois  in  his  Hindu  Manners,  Cus- 
toms, and  Ceremonies.  The  religious  customs  of  both 
tribes  bear  out  the  truth  that  the  cradle  of  the  hu- 
man race  was  in  the  Orient. 

As  with  us  whites  we  look  to  the  East  whence  we 
came,  so  the  Shoshone  looks  to  the  West.  Ere  he 
rolls  himself  up  in  his  blanket  for  the  night,  he  goes 
i8  259 


MY   PEOPLE    OF   THE    PLAINS 

through  his  simple  vesper  devotions,  consisting  of  a 
plaintive,  low  whistle,  accompanied  with  a  little  jig- 
ging dance,  with  his  face  towards  the  sunset,  for 
there,  he  says,  is  his  home  land.  From  the  West, 
too,  he  looks  for  the  great  pilgrim  host  at  the  re- 
turn of  the  dead. 

So  also  to  the  Arapahoe  the  Northwest  is  the 
sacred  quarter.  With  his  face  set  in  that  direction 
he  beats  upon  his  breast  when  in  distress,  and  offers 
his  propitiatory  sacrifice  with  prayers  fervent  and 
strong. 

During  the  earlier  period  of  the  ghost-dance,  or 
the  so-called  "Messiah  craze,"  of  the  fall  of  1886, 
there  was  great  excitement  on  the  Wind  River  Res- 
ervation. This  w^as  before  the  craze  had  reached 
other  tribes.  The  Indians  assembled  and  danced 
frantically  all  night  long  for  weeks  together.  •  Run- 
ners had  arrived  with  the  startling  news  that  the 
great  host  of  the  dead  was  advancing  from  the 
West,  and  that  "Our  Father,"  God,  was  with  them 
leading  them  on.  At  that  time  extensive  forest- 
fires  in  the  mountains  near  by  filled  these  valleys 
with  a  smoky  haze,  and  the  sky  for  weeks  at  sunset 
was  a  flaming  red.  These  phenomena  added  weight 
to  the  strange  tidings  brought  them,  and  the  Ind- 
ians were  insane  with  excitement  and  expectation. 
Visiting  Indians  who  came  from  other  tribes  caught 
the  contagion  and  enthusiasm,  and  returned  home 
full  of  fervor  to  spread  the  news  far  and  wide.  In- 
deed, the  Wind  River  Reservation  was  the  Mecca  of 

260 


THE  RED  MAN  AND  UNCLE  SAM 

the  ghost-dancers,  the  cardinal  doctrines  of  whose 
faith  were  the  return  of  the  dead  to  life  again,  the 
emancipation  of  the  Indians  by  the  restoration  of 
the  grand  old  times,  the  retiirn  of  the  buffalo  which 
once  roamed  by  thousands  on  the  plain,  and,  above 
all,  the  utter  annihilation  of  the  white  man. 

Any  review  of  the  native  religion  of  the  Indian 
would  be  imperfect  that  failed  to  reckon  with  the 
medicine-man.  He  still  has  power  as  a  religious 
factor,  not  so  much  as  a  teacher  of  heathenism  as 
one  supposed  to  be  able  to  diagnose  diseases  and  to 
prescribe  means  to  overcome  baneful  influences  and 
the  work  of  evil  spirits  which  cause  sickness  and 
misfortune.  For  instance,  a  gopher  (a  diminutive 
sort  of  prairie-dog)  has  drawn  near  a  tepee  at  night, 
and  cast  a  spell  over  a  whole  family;  or  a  wolf  has 
howled  on  a  neighboring  bluff,  and  thus  called  a 
member  of  the  family  away  from  earth.  It  is  a 
serious  case,  and  a  horse  must  be  sacrificed  in  the 
mountains  to  break  this  spell  of  the  gopher,  or  a 
wolf-skin  has  to  be  procured  and  hung  up  in  the 
tepee  to  checkmate  its  companion  of  the  evil  howl. 
Sometimes  the  medicine-man  may  pretend  to  be 
puzzled  with  a  case.  He  decides  that  he  must  fall 
into  a  trance  and  explore  in  the  land  of  the  dead 
where  all  things  are  known  and  ascertain  the  cause 
of  the  sickness  or  calamity  and  find  a  remedy. 
Presently  he  wakes  up  and  has  a  marvellous  tale  to 
tell.  Should  he  have  a  streak  of  good  luck,  and 
many    of   his    patients    recover,    "the    power"    or 

261 


MY   PEOPLE   OF   THE   PLAINS 

"medicine"  is  strong  within  him,  and  he  has  a 
large  practice,  and  many  horses  and  other  fees  are 
paid  him.  Should  he  unfortunately  lose  his  patients 
he  claims  that  his  "power"  is  in  abeyance,  and  he 
retires  from  practice  for  a  season  until  he  becomes 
charged  with  the  "power"  again. 

Arapahoe  medicine  -  men  also  hypnotize  their 
patients  occasionally,  and  sometimes  resort  to  faith- 
cure.  With  massage,  blowing  chewed  roots  from 
his  mouth  on  the  bare  body  of  the  patient  like  a 
Chinaman  dampening  his  clothes,  he  also  makes  use 
of  a  peculiar  way  of  cupping — sucking  with  his  lips 
the  blood  through  the  skin  of  the  sick  person.  So 
strong  is  this  suction  that  for  many  days  the  por- 
tion of  the  body  thus  treated  will  remain  bloodshot 
and  bruised.  Herb  teas  are  also  administered  by 
them,  often  with  very  beneficial  effects. 

Each  medicine-man  has  qualified  in  a  way  pecul- 
iarly his  own.  The  most  famous  one  now  on  the 
reservation  claims  that  he  got  his  diploma  from  the 
powers  of  the  air.  One  day,  lying  down  in  his 
tepee,  he  heard  a  noise  from  above  calling  him  by 
name.  Stepping  outside  he  saw  a  "paper"  floating 
down  through  the  air  towards  him.  He  at  once 
ran  up  one  of  the  slender  tepee  poles  like  a  chip- 
munk, and  standing  tiptoe  on  its  topmost  end 
reached  out  and  seized  the  document  as  it  passed 
by.     Thus,  he  says,  he  got  his  "papers." 

Another  says  that  he  was  made  a  medicine-man 
in  his  youth.     He  was  left  an  orphan,  friendless  and 

262 


THE  RED  MAN  AND  UNCLE  SAM 

very  poor.  One  day  he  travelled  out  on  a  wide 
plain  alone  to  bemoan  his  fate.  There  he  seated 
himself  and  wept  and  wailed.  Looking  up,  he  saw 
squatting  by  him  an  eagle,  a  bear,  and  a  badger, 
these  three.  Being  asked  by  them  why  he  wept,  he 
told  them  his  tale  of  woe.  They  bade  him  be  of 
good  cheer,  for  they  would  make  of  him  a  medicine- 
man. Thereupon  the  eagle  plucked  off  one  of  his 
talons  and  presented  it  to  him,  saying:  "By  this  I 
bestow  on  you  all  knowledge  that  is  above  the 
earth."  The  bear  likewise  handed  him  one  of  her 
claws,  endowing  him  with  all  knowledge  on  the 
earth,  and  finally  the  badger,  bowing,  passed  him 
one  of  his  claws,  thus  giving  him  the  key  to  the 
knowledge  of  all  things  under  the  earth.  "  Here 
they  are,"  said  Wolf-foot  (for  that  is  his  name), 
pointing  to  the  three  claws  he  had  on  a  buckskin 
string  around  his  neck. 

The  more  intelligent  Indians  and  all  those  who 
have  been  educated  in  our  schools  believe  in  the 
salutary  effect  of  the  treatment  of  the  white  man's 
doctor,  and  seek  his  help  in  sickness.  Of  the  others, 
only  the  very  old  and  superstitious  still  cling  to  the 
medicine-man. 

This  brings  me  to  consider,  finally,  one  objection 
against  educating  the  Indian  children.  It  is  said 
that  when  they  return  to  the  reservation,  after  being 
graduated  from  our  schools  in  the  East  or  elsewhere, 
they  resume  their  blankets  and  relapse  into  their 
old  ways  and  savage  customs.     This  is  often  par- 

263 


MY   PEOPLE   OF  THE   PLAINS 

tially  true;  and  it  will  continue  to  be  the  case  as 
long  as  the  reservation  is  the  only  destination  of  the 
young  man  or  woman  who  returns  from  the  school. 
It  were  unreasonable  to  expect  it  to  be  otherwise. 
To  compel  such  young  people  to  go  back  and  live 
among  those  who  still  retain  Indian  customs  and 
dress,  with  the  hope  that  they  will  steadfastly  ad- 
here to  the  dress  of  the  hated  white  man,  is  absurd. 
Such  youth  are  exposed  to  ridicule  and  taunts, 
until,  life  becoming  intolerable,  they  simply  yield 
to  the  pressure,  and  cease  the  struggle  of  being 
peculiar  and  obnoxious  to  their  own  people.  The 
fact  that  they  assume  again  the  dress  of  the  Ind- 
ian does  not  necessarily  mean  that  their  school- 
training  is  lost  upon  them.  As  with  the  white  man, 
so  with  the  Indian,  the  outward  dress  and  appear- 
ance does  not  constitute  the  man,  and  we  may  be 
sure  that  the  educated  boy  or  girl  never  sinks  to 
the  same  level  he  once  occupied  before  his  school- 
days. But  when  the  reservation  system  is  broken 
up — and  let  us  rejoice  that  it  is  now  rapidly  disap- 
pearing— the  educated  youth  will  return  to  a  com- 
munity quite  different  from  that  which  has  hitherto 
awaited  him.  He  will  go  back  to  live  where  his 
neighbors  and  companions  will  be  chiefly  white 
people ;  and  having  learned  at  the  schools  the  white 
man's  life  and  understood  its  advantages,  he  will 
continue  to  live  that  life,  and  intelligently  and  sym- 
pathetically commend  it  to  his  own  people. 

Under  the  new  regime  the  day  of  the  tepee  and 

264 


THE  RED  MAN  AND  UNCLE  SAM 

blanket  is  doomed ;  as  the  old  order  passes  away  the 
coming  generations  will  catch  the  spirit  of  the  new 
era  awaiting  the  red-man,  and  will  gradually  be- 
come incorporated  into  our  body  politic,  until  at  last 
the  Indian's  separate  individuality  as  a  race  will  be- 
come a  memory  of  the  past. 


THE    END 


/^ 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  AT  LOS  ANGELES 
THE  UNIVERSITY  LIBRARY 


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